Years Apart
by lanri
Summary: Age swap AU. Sam may be the older one, but whatever it takes, Dean won't let anything happen to his brother.
1. Chapter 1

" _Daddy?"_

" _Not now, Sammy."_

 _Sam tugged on his daddy's sleeve. "Daddy, Dean's crying."_

" _I hear him."_

" _Wha' do I do?"_

 _His daddy finally looked up. "He's probably dirty, Sammy."_

" _But he didn't play outside."_

 _Daddy heaved a sigh. "His diaper, Sammy."_

" _Oh." Sam thought back to the times he'd seen Mommy change Dean's diaper. "I'll do it."_

 _Daddy didn't notice, just took another drink from his bottle. Sam padded over to Dean, lying in a nest of blankets on the floor._

" _It's okay, Dean, I'll take care of you," he promised. He grabbed Dean's bag and pulled out a diaper and wipes._

 _He carefully undid Dean's diaper, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "Gross," he said petulantly. "Why'd you do that?"_

 _Dean had stopped crying and was staring at him, hiccuping a little. Sam used a bunch of wipes and threw everything away, carefully wiping his hands when he was done._

 _He turned back to Dean and shrieked._

" _No, Dean! Daddy, help! He's peeing everywhere!"_

 _Daddy came barreling into the room, face like thunder. Sam shrank back as Daddy stood over the two of them._

" _Sammy, what did you do?!"_

" _I'm sorry, I was trying to help," Sam sobbed._

 _His daddy made a noise of disgust. "Look at this mess. Sammy, go get Dean some new clothes while I get him in the bath."_

 _Tears streaming down his face, Sam obeyed, quietly handing Daddy Dean's clothes when prompted._

" _I'm sorry," he whispered again once Dean was cleaned up and tucked back into his nest made from new blankets._

 _Daddy sighed again, wiping a hand over his face. "Be more careful next time," he said._

" _Yessir." Sam waited until Daddy had gone back to his bottle before curling up next to Dean on his nest. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'll do better next time," he promised. "I won't mess up ever again."_

* * *

"Dean!" Sam roared. "Hang on!"

"That is what I'm doing!" Dean called back. He hitched his arms a little more securely around the tree trunk. Below him, the river raged for his blood. At least, that's what it sounded like to Dean's ears. On the other side of the river bank, Sam was dancing around the possessed porcupine—no really, a possessed porcupine—leaving Dean to dangle.

"C'mon, Sammy! My arm's sore!"

Dean got a flash of disbelief for a second before worry re-encompassed his brother's face. "Dean, can't you get your legs around it?"

"Not all of us do yoga, big brother."

"It's not yoga, it's taichi—never mind." Sam delicately balanced as he walked across the fallen tree. He reached Dean and straddled the tree like it was a horse.

"What's your plan here?" Dean asked, grunting as his trembling arms slipped a little. "You can't lift me up on your own."

Sam's face had the deep scowl that made him look constipated. "If I grab one of your arms, would you be able to twist around so you can get your torso on the tree?"

"We better try before I lose my grip," Dean said.

Sam leaned over, gripping Dean's forearm.

"You secured?" Dean checked.

"Good. Go for it."

With a hiss of pain as his aching hand released the trunk, Dean scrambled to grab onto Sam's wrist. His brother's grip was almost painful in how tight it was.

"One, two, three," Sam grit out, yanking upwards on three. The momentum was enough that Dean was able to twist awkwardly half-over the top. Sam released his arm and grasped his middle, heaving up like he had when Dean was five and wanted to get up on the jungle gym.

"Okay, I'm good, dude."

Even so, Sam still hovered until Dean was seated firmly on the tree. Dean glanced behind Sam in preparation to scoot towards solid ground.

"Sam, the porcupine!"

Sam yelped as the possessed forest animal deliberately swept its tail towards him. The porcupine overbalanced itself, and toppled towards the water below, but not before getting a few quills into Sam. It was Dean's turn to steady his brother as Sam reflexively pulled away and became unbalanced.

"The porcupine," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, we couldn't save your new friend. Can we focus on getting back and getting those pokey things out of your back?"

"Pokey things?" Sam asked. He began edging backwards, every movement making him wince.

"They poked you, didn't they?"

"I figured that was a euphemism you used with girls."

"Please, Sammy, I'm classier than that."

Sam paused in his scooting to raise an eyebrow at Dean. Dean flushed a little. "Okay, yes, I have used that, but that isn't what I was going for here."

His brother huffed a laugh. "You are something, kid."

"I'm eighteen, Sammy. Not a kid." Dean winced at how petulant he sounded. That wouldn't help his argument.

"Practically an old man." Sam was blabbering more than usual—which definitely meant he was in pain. Dean focused on staying balanced until he was on his own feet.

"Okay, how 'bout you let me look at your back?"

"Only if you let me look at your hands first," Sam countered.

Dean scowled. "The protective big brother gig is getting old, dude. You have freakin' quills in your back. I just have a few splinters."

"In the hands you'd be using to pull quills out of my back." Sam smirked, obviously thinking he'd won the argument. Dean tried to come up with a counter-argument, but as usual he'd been outplayed by his older brother.

"Fine," he conceded. "Are we doing this here?"

Sam shook his head. "As long as you can drive, we should get back to the motel. It's already getting dark."

Dean eyed Sam dubiously. "You can walk with those things in your back?"

"Well enough. I can't bend over to get the weapons bag, so that's all you."

By the time the drive back was over, Sam was pale and sweaty where he was turned halfway in the seat. Dean hustled him into the motel and went to pick at the quills, but Sam stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Your hands," he demanded.

Sam was unstoppable in this mode. Dean grit his teeth and acquiesced. Even in pain, Sam's care managed to be gentle. Sometimes Dean hated his brother for being so compassionate and caring. It made him feel like a brute in comparison.

"Your turn," he was finally able to demand.

Sam carefully lay down on his stomach, leaving Dean to grimace at the painful looking quills. "Grit your teeth, dude. This is gonna hurt."

He pulled them out using pliers. The punctures oozed a little, and Dean carefully cleaned them out and slathered antibacterial ointment over the whole area.

"Why on earth did that spirit want to even possess a porcupine?" Sam mumbled. He tended to ramble on all kinds of stuff whenever he crashed after an injury.

"Got me, Sammy."

"You okay? It was a long drop. I thought I might not be able to make it in time." Something dark entered Sam's voice, and Dean saw him clench one hand in the bedding. "I thought you might fall."

"I'm good." Dean hated how his brother took responsibility for every little thing. "It's not like you could've done anything differently."

"Yeah." Sam shivered. Dean finished smoothing a bandage over the punctures and grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed.

Dean considered his personal attempts to look like an adult and act more like an adult. It was worth sacrificing that, though. For Sam. Dean knew his brother, and knew that being alone was not an option right now. "Mind if we share, dude? It's freezing in here."

Sam barely raised his shoulder, which Dean took as acquiescence. His brother was an idiot who liked to act self-sufficient in some misguided attempt to protect Dean. Dean squirmed in close, feeling small next to his huge brother.

Sam's voice was slurred with exhaustion. "Wha' bout your hands?"

"They're fine." Dean proved it by wrapping one arm around Sam's back. "Now shut up and sleep."

"You're the boss."

"And don't you forget it," Dean muttered.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Apologies for the long absence everybody. Life's been crazy, and I've struggled for inspiration, or even any kind of solid idea for a new fic. I ended up going back to one of the prompts I wanted to explore more, and have been slowly working on it for a while. It still isn't quite done, but it's close enough that I wanted to go ahead and post something now.

I'm not 100% confident in how it's going to go. As I said when I tackled this before, I'm not very confident in the whole age swap thing, so this is very much an experiment. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

_Dad groaned as he slumped onto the bed. Sam stared, wide-eyed at all of the blood._

 _"Dad?"_

 _"Sammy, get the first aid kit."_

 _Sam shuddered and did as his father asked, fingers feeling rubbery as he fumbled the bag._

 _"Daddy?"_

 _Dean's voice was small and scared. Sam swallowed. "Dean, go to the bathroom," he said. "I'll be there in a second."_

 _Usually Dean did his own thing, no matter what Sam told him, but thankfully the five year-old obeyed. Sam hurried to the bed, opening the first aid kit._

 _"Now what?" he whispered._

 _His dad's shaking hand pointed to his leg. "I need you to stitch up my leg. Like we practiced on the orange."_

 _Sam nodded shakily. He poured antiseptic over his dad's leg first, and then went back to the first aid kit. The gloves were too big for his hands, the needle too small. He leaned over the bloody mess and tried to find the beginning of the wound. The first jab of the needle made Dad hiss through his teeth. By the tenth, he had passed out._

 _It took forever for Sam to finish. He was crying by the end of it. He washed Dad's wounds one more time before patting them dry and bandaging it carefully. He covered Dad in a blanket and stood motionless. What else could he do?_

 _"Sammy?"_

 _Sam turned to see Dean staring at him, wide-eyed._

 _"Shh," he said. "Dad needs to sleep. He herded Dean back into the bathroom. The fluorescent lights made the blood on Sam seem too bright. "I need to take a shower."_

 _Dean nodded, obediently flicking on the water for him. Sam tried to smile, but couldn't past his tears._

 _"Why you cry?" Dean asked, his own voice wobbling._

 _Sam sniffed heartily and wiped the back of his hands over his eyes. He thought about lying, but it hurt too much. "I'm crying because I'm scared."_

 _Dean was wide-eyed. "You aren't scared of nothing."_

 _"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not trying to scare you." Sam stripped, stepping in the shower. The blood looked very very red as it trailed down the drain. Dad could've died. He still could die._

 _"Do you want a cookie?" Dean asked. "I saved mine."_

 _"You got that for winning the race," Sam said. He felt weird . . . kind of numb and disconnected. "I can't take that."_

 _Dean left, and Sam stood in the shower, shivering a little as the water got cold, but he couldn't bring himself to turn it off._

 _"Here." Dean proudly presented his cookie. "Eat it."_

 _Slowly, Sam got out of the shower, wrapped himself in a towel, and took his little brother's offering. "Thank you," he whispered._

 _"It'll be okay, Sammy." Dean's small arms barely made it around him. Sam pressed his face into Dean's curly hair._

 _"Let's go to bed," Sam said._

 _The next day, Dad sat Dean down and told him about monsters and the Hunt. Sam stood by, thinking about the things in the dark, and the fear in his little brother's eyes, and suddenly realized that he hated hunting. This couldn't be all there was to life._

 _Dean looked up at him, something like distrust in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"_

 _"I wanted to keep you safe," Sam whispered. "I'm sorry."_

* * *

Dean threw down the newspapers in disgust. "Still no sign of Dad."

Sam was sitting at the motel table, resting his head in his hands. "He's sent us coordinates before, but he always picks up his phone. I don't understand why he would just—" His voice trailed off. Dean's heart clenched a little at the defeat in his brother's voice.

"You getting another headache, dude?

"It's nothing," Sam said, which in Sam-speak meant that yes, he was, and it was at nearly unbearable levels already.

Dean got off the bed, hunting through his pack until he found some motrin. "C'mon, Sammy. You've gotta take care of yourself."

Predictably, Sam's answer was, "I'm fine."

Dean ignored him, holding the pills in front of Sam's face until he took them.

"Where do you want to try next?" Sam mumbled.

"How 'bout the beach?" Dean grinned and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, Dean."

"Seriously, Dean," Dean mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "We should go, man. You haven't been sleeping well, don't think I haven't noticed.

"Says the guy who's getting sick."

Dean blinked, nonplussed. "I'm not getting sick."

"My superpower is that I can tell 24 hours before you're getting sick." One of Sam's rare dimpled smiles flashed across his face. "You are definitely gonna get sick."

"Am not," Dean muttered, crossing his arms. "And if I do, you're only damning yourself, because you always catch what I have."

"True enough." Sam stood, stretching. "We probably have just enough time to get to the beach before we both crash."

Dean fistpumped. "Yeah! Let's do this."

Usually Sam was the one who drove, but Dean managed to snatch the keys before his brother could. "Haha. I win, dude. And you have the headache anyway."

It was Sam's weary acquiescence that made Dean a little more nervous about Sam's condition. It seemed like all their lives, Sam had been a little more susceptible to getting hurt, diseases, or even stupid headaches. And it wasn't like Dean was incapable of taking care of Sam . . . it was that Sam was so used to being in charge and responsible and crap that he was terrible at knowing when he needed to slow down.

"Slow down, Dean. Geez."

Dean sighed dramatically and glared balefully at the radio. "I should get to pick what we're listening to. I'm driving."

"Oldest picks," Sam said absently.

"Well, when we were driving with Dad that was fine, because he had a decent taste in music. You . . . I mean, what is this? Classical music and talking and junk."

"NPR is informative, Dean, and—"

Dean hit the radio and AC/DC blared through the speakers. "With this, Dad will be the one finding us!" he shouted.

Sam flicked it back. "Dean, c'mon. Stop being so immature."

"I'm not even an adult yet. I'm allowed to be immature."

Dean reached for the radio again, but Sam seized his wrist. "C'mon, Dean. My head's still killing me."

"The great Sam Winchester finally admits a weakness." Dean subsided, letting his hand drop. "Fine, we'll listen to pansy music until you fall asleep."

After a short silence, Sam spoke up again. "It's been a whole three months since we last heard from Dad. What do you think happened?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He stared out at the road. "I don't know, Sammy. I don't understand why he would deliberately ditch us like that."

"He loves his secrets," Sam muttered.

Dean thought about the many shouting matches his brother and dad would have concerning that topic. "He did the best he could. It's not like you've been so great about telling me secrets in the past yourself."

Sam flinched; Dean felt guilty for the cheap shot. "You know why I didn't tell you about hunting, Dean. You were far too young. And applying to college was ages ago, and it was a mistake. Are you really holding onto that?"

"I'm not holding onto anything. I'm just saying, you could cut the guy some slack. You two aren't so different."

If anything, Sam flinched even more at that. He didn't say anything, staring out the window until he finally fell asleep.

Dean sped up the car after Sam fell asleep, getting them to the coast in record time. It was a little early for beach season, so the packed sand of the South Carolina beach was practically empty.

"Wake up, princess," he murmured, gently grabbing his brother's shoulder. "We made it."

Sam blinked in the dying sunlight. "Wha—"

"Beach? C'mon, let's dip our toes in and then go find a motel before it gets any colder."

Dean nudged Sam, climbing outside and shivering a little in the brisk air. "Maybe not quite beach weather, huh?"

"Got the beach to ourselves, though." Sam stretched, groaning as his back cracked. Dean smirked.

"If you weren't such a giant . . ."

Without warning, Sam ruffled up Dean's hair like he was a little kid again. Dean shouted his outrage and Sam darted away, down to the water. Dean ran after him with a battle cry. They probably looked like a bunch of idiots; two full grown men (one overgrown, one with a little more growing to do) acting like five year olds on an empty beach. Sam managed to trip on his own feet and Dean tackled him, both of them crashing to the unfortunately hard sand.

"Ow," Sam muttered.

"Say 'uncle,'" Dean demanded.

Sam went still, and Dean waited for his brother's capitulation; without warning, Sam's octopus limbs lashed out and Dean was tossed over Sam's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Dude, stop!" He squirmed, but Sam's hold was too good. "I give up. No!"

Sam took a few steps into the water. "Oh, I should stop?"

"Don't you dare! I will kill you!"

"Not threatening enough." Sam sent Dean splashing into the water. Dean came up spluttering, but while Sam was guffawing, he swept his brother's legs out from under him.

"Cheap shot." Sam spit out sea water. "We done acting like kids?"

The words somehow stung, and Dean had spit out a response before he knew what he was doing. "Seems like I'll always be a kid to you," he said.

Sam sensed blood, and cocked his head. "What?"

Dean flushed self-consciously and stood, feeling his wet clothes cling to his body. "I dunno. You always act like you're humoring me, y'know? With the beach and finding Dad—"

"Dean . . ."

"I get it, I'm not as smart as you, and you're the oldest, but would it kill you to treat me like an adult?" The words seemed to flow from Dean's mouth without his own permission. He shivered in the cold air and swiped a hand across his dripping face. "Look, I . . . never mind."

"You've got that stupid cold coming, c'mon, let's go get warmed up," Sam said softly. Dean was too embarrassed to meet his eyes, and traipsed up onto the beach with a heavy heart. They dried off in silence, making it to the motel before either of them said anything else.

Sam was the one to break the silence. "Dean. I don't think of you as . . . less. I mean, you'll always be my baby brother, you know? I changed your diapers, fought off bullies, taught you the alphabet. I don't think I'll ever be able to change that. But it is my fault for not . . . respecting you as an adult."

"Sam, enough. I was just tired, forget it," Dean said. He felt his ears burning.

"Hey." Sam grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn. "Dean, we're in this together. Finding Dad, whatever's going on . . . I'm not leaving you. Not ever. And you can put me in my place. Hey, you should, y'know? Just like I put you in your place."

Dean wasn't fast enough to get away when Sam looped an arm around him and pulled him in for a hug.

"I have a big sister, not a big brother," he squirmed. "Enough with the chick flick moment, dude."

"You get me, Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get you." He sniffed and grimaced. "Dang it, you were right, I think I'm getting sick."

"I'll make some soup." Sam held onto him for a few moments longer before releasing him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter was a little sappy but it'll get more intense as it goes on lol.

I've loved the mix of responses! Rightly so some of you are a little iffy about going forward. Hilarious thing is, I actually have never cared for age swaps myself! I guess that's why it makes it so interesting to write. Keep on going forward! Input always welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

_"Sammy, do you have to go?"_

 _"Dad says I have to, so I do." Sam pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. "You're gonna be good, right? You'll keep the doors locked, won't answer for anyone?"_

 _"I know, I know." Dean rolled his eyes. "We went over this a thousand times."_

 _"It only takes one—" Sam thought of the shtriga and swallowed "—one mistake. I couldn't live with myself if I came back and you were hurt, Dean."_

 _Dean held out his hand. "Pinky promise."_

 _Sam interlocked fingers. "Good boy."_

 _"Sam! Get your butt out here and stop lollygagging."_

 _Sam felt something like bile crawl up his throat. He managed to say, "yessir."_

 _Dean's wide eyes followed him out the door, and then through the motel's window. Sam settled into the passenger seat of the Impala and twisted his hands together._

 _"Sam, go over the ritual one more time."_

 _"March around the three corners of the triangle to keep the spirit trapped inside, and wave the burning sage," Sam said carefully. "You'll have the salt in case it gets free and recite the banishment."_

 _His dad nodded. The drive was over far too soon. Sam stared out at the graveyard for a moment, heart beating loud in his ears._

 _"Now, Sam."_

 _He scrambled for the door, grabbing the bag of salt and the bundle of sage._

 _"Dad, where do I start? Does it matter where in the graveyard?"_

 _The disappointment in Dad's face made Sam cringe. "Sam. We talked about this."_

 _"But I thought that . . . I mean, won't doing it around the burial site of his daughter make him too angry?"_

 _"We need to draw him out, Sam."_

 _"Yessir."_

 _Sam began the ritual, the way he had to move the sage up and down hiding the shaking of his hands. He followed the triangle pattern designated. There was a charge in the air, and without warning a figure appeared in the middle of the triangle. Sam nearly stopped except for his Dad's hiss of his name. He continued to walk the triangle._

 _"Filth."_

 _The harsh whisper made Sam flinch and nearly drop his handful of salt._

 _"You come here to defile her grave? I will murder you for that."_

 _The spirit threw itself towards Sam. He yelped and took a step back while throwing salt. The ghost dissipated, and he took a deep breath._

 _"Sam, you broke the triangle! Get down!"_

 _Sam dropped to the ground just as the ghost reappeared; Dad threw a handful of salt just in time._

 _Dad began chanting the ritual. Sam was frozen in place as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. Should he continue to walk the triangle? Should he go get extra salt?_

 _The ghost took advantage of Sam's indecision. As he stood in a weird kind of crouch, waiting for instruction, the ghost appeared next to him. It locked a hand around his throat, lifting him up. He was facing the wrong way, so that he was in the way of any of his father's attempts to get to the ghost._

 _"You are tainted," the ghost whispered. Sam stared at it, feeling his vision darken and his body begin to give up as he choked. "I can feel it in your blood."_

 _The ghost tossed him away. Sam's legs hit a gravestone and he toppled over into the soft dirt._

 _He could vaguely hear Dad shouting the last of the ritual and the ghost's scream. Everything was a blur until he opened his eyes and they were back in the motel and Dean was there._

 _"Hey, Sammy. Dad said you tripped. You okay?"_

 _Sam swallowed, his throat feeling rough and swollen. "I'm okay. You were okay by yourself?"_

 _Dean puffed up his chest proudly. "I did all my homework and everything."_

 _"G'boy." Sam leaned over and pressed his lips to the top of Dean's curly head. "Were you scared?"_

 _"No."_

 _Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean flushed and ducked his head. "A little."_

 _"Wanna know a secret?" Sam thought of Dean, alone and helpless. Of the disappointment in his father's eyes. "Me too."_

* * *

"Dean, no."

Dean scowled at his brother. "I swear that's all you ever say."

Sam returned his scowl with equal fervor. "You are having a beer. That is all."

"Dad lets me get a whiskey."

"Dad isn't here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, can we at least play some pool?"

Sam looked at him sharply. "And by play some pool you mean . . ."

Dean leaned forward. "C'mon, dude, we need the cash. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Sam's face looked pinched. "If we just stay somewhere for a week, I could get some work and—"

"Or we could take on those yahoos. You know you want to . . ." Dean had learned that if he put just the right tone in his voice, he could get Sam to do about anything. It didn't fail him now. Sam sighed, standing and draining the last of his beer.

"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered.

Dean slid naturally into the persona he'd perfected over the last year; drunk college kid trying to show off how tough he was to his big brother. Sam, just as naturally, acted stiff and uncomfortable. It was hardly a hustle that way.

The truckers shooting pool eyed them dubiously. "You kids want to play?"

Sam gave a pained smile. "He won't let me take him home."

Dean puffed out his chest a little. "I gotta show you how it's done."

"Why not Carl, if they want to give us their money, let them."

They walked away one grand richer. Dean kept up his act until they were out in the parking lot.

"Yeah! That's how to do it, Sammy!"

"Shh! Let's just get back to the motel, Dean. Tomorrow we'll get to the coordinates Dad sent if we get an early start."

"I do not know how you ended up being a morning person, but I am not a fan," Dean muttered.

The sound of a door slamming made the brothers come to a halt, both of them tensing.

"Crap," Dean grit out. "Don't tell me."

"Your new friends want to talk with us," Sam said. In unison, they turned to face the truckers they'd hustled.

"I'm thinking these boys need to be taught a lesson."

Dean smirked a little. "Wow, Sammy, they're really hitting all the cliches, aren't they?"

"Not now, Dean."

If Dean were to brag about anything, it was how awesome of a fighter he was. All the hours of training had paid off; he knew he was really good. Combine him with his brother, and they were nigh unstoppable. They ducked, weaved, struck at all the right times. It worked tonight, like any other night.

Except neither of them had counted on one of the truckers having a knife. Dean found himself with an arm twisted behind his back, knife at his throat. Sam went still, staring at the man with an expression that spelled death.

"Don't do this," he said. "Let my brother go."

The trucker laughed a little. "Not so tough now, are you two? Give us back our money."

Sam pulled out the wad of cash and tossed it on the ground near one of their incapacitated opponents. "Fine. You have your money, now put the knife away."

The man laughed again, scraping the edge of the blade up and down Dean's neck. "Maybe you two will think better of hustling us next time."

Dean was shoved away, kept upright only by Sam's quick reflexes.

"Don't move," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Wha—"

Sam . . . Sam launched himself towards the trucker. The knife was still in play; Dean yelled out a warning. Sam didn't even hesitate. He ducked away from the knife and then shoved back to get the knife out of the way before smashing a fist into the guy's nose, followed by a kick in the groin. Dean grimaced in mild sympathy as the dude crumpled.

"Sammy, it was only a thousand bucks," he said weakly.

"Wasn't about that." Sam walked away without looking back. Dean sighed, scooping up their winnings and jogging after Sam.

"Hey, Sam, I think there's some Shakespeare festival thing in this town tomorrow. Wanna get your geek on while I make fun of you?"

The darkness in Sam's face eased a little. "You'd put up with that?"

"You kidding? I bet it's gonna be hilarious. And if it's boring, well, I can use a nap." Dean grinned and Sam shook his head.

"You're hopeless," he murmured.

Sam closed his door, leaving Dean standing in the night. "Not with you," he murmured.

* * *

 **A/N:** I like the idea of Sam becoming more . . . intense, due to being a big brother. Growing up with Dean watching out for him allows Sam the space to relax a little with normal situations, but from the show, Sam dealing with stress=intensity, so I hope that translated well here. Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

_The door shook under the force of the knocking. Sam pressed his finger to his lips. Dean nodded, eyes wide._

 _"Open up! You're late on rent. Don't think I won't call the cops, because I will! You have until tomorrow to pay up."_

 _The person left, and Sam took a deep breath._

 _"Pack your things, Dean."_

 _"Why isn't Dad back?"_

 _"I don't know, but we can't wait." Sam collected their meagre possessions and stole a couple motel blankets as well. "We'll go to Uncle Bobby."_

 _Dean frowned. "I thought he didn't answer when you called him."_

 _"He didn't, but at least he has a house and we won't get put in the foster care system."_

 _Dean's eyes went wide at that and Sam cursed his fat mouth. "C'mon, Dean. We got this. It's like an adventure."_

 _Dean grinned, awkward gap between his teeth making him look even younger than his eight years. "Let's go!"_

 _"Shh. We have to wait until night, so the apartment manager doesn't see us."_

 _"Oh. Okay."_

 _They settled down and played some Go Fish—the TV cable had gone out three days ago, the phone two days ago._

 _Finally, it was late enough. Sam snuck them out, large pack on his back with most of their possessions, while Dean had one a little smaller._

 _"Dean? You gotta let me take care of this part," he whispered._

 _Dean crossed his arms. "Why? I can help."_

 _Sam eyed the trucker's stop. "I don't want you to get hurt if something goes wrong."_

 _"I'm good at fighting," Dean argued. "And I can hold the knife."_

 _Sam hesitated. It wasn't a terrible idea to have Dean play the surprise factor in case it went badly._

 _"Alright. You have to promise to stay behind me."_

 _"I promise."_

 _The first few truckers he approached weren't going the right direction. The fourth one leaned in a little too close, grabbed Sam's shoulder, and leered._

 _Sam didn't hesitate to pull out his gun and point it at the guy's crotch._

 _The fifth trucker agreed to take them a couple cities outside. Relieved, the two of them settled inside the cab. Dean instantly fell asleep, head cushioned on Sam's lap._

 _"You two kids in trouble?"_

 _Sam shook his head. "Just miscommunication."_

 _The guy grinned. "Big word for a little shrimp like you."_

 _Sam eyed him warily but the trucker simply seemed amused. He didn't let himself sleep for the entire journey._

 _The trucker gave him money for a phone call. Sam approached the booth, checking his surroundings before letting Dean inside the small space. It made him nervous, to be so trapped and exposed._

 _"Singer Salvage."_

 _"Uncle Bobby." Sam nearly cried in relief. "Uncle Bobby, can you come get us?"_

 _"What's wrong?" Uncle Bobby asked sharply. "Are you hurt? Is Dean okay?"_

 _"We're okay, but Dad didn't come home and we didn't have rent."_

 _Uncle Bobby halfway swore and then cut himself off. "Alright. You kids stay put, and I'll come get you. Your daddy was hunting in Des Moines, right?"_

 _"Uh, yes. But we're in Sioux City. We hitchhiked."_

 _"Crap, kid. You boys safe?"_

 _"I have my gun."_

 _"Fair enough. I'll be there soon." The call cut off and Sam hugged Dean in relief._

 _"Uncle Bobby's on his way."_

 _Sam got a lecture about taking risks from Uncle Bobby as they drove to his house._

 _When Dad showed up, he congratulated him on making the right choice._

 _Neither of them seemed right._

* * *

"How many of them are there?"

Dean made a face. "I dunno. My witnesses kept changing their minds."

Sam made a similar face as Dean. "I hacked the video feed, but it was only a corner shot of the attacks. No way to know. I still have more to check though"

"Can we go to the bar?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, I still have to comb through hours of footage."

"C'mon, dude. I haven't gotten laid in weeks."

Sam gave him a sharp glance. "Dean."

"Not everyone is a romantic like you, Sam. Or a monk, whatever you are."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. I'm not paying your hospital bills if you end up with syphilis."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean snagged his jacket. "Don't work too hard, Sammy."

He jogged across the street to the bar, grinning appreciatively at the scantily-clad women, the sound of pool cues and beer bottles clinking.

"New in town, stranger?"

"Passing through." Dean leaned against the bar, eyeing the girl. "You know the town well?"

"Only been here my whole life." The girl—small, red headed, and freckled—rolled her eyes. "Wish I could cut loose."

"I imagine." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you?"

"Family ties. Can't break free, don't really want to most of the time. You know how it is."

Dean thought of the look in Sam's eyes when he'd first confronted him about applying to college. "I think I do."

"I'm Kasey."

"Dean."

"Wanna get out of here?"

Dean smiled. "I'm game."

When Dean walked in at 3am, Sam merely rolled his eyes. "I hope the lack of sleep was worth it. We're gonna go out today. I have a hit on the werewolf lair."

"Gimme four hours."

"I'll give you three."

"Slave driver." Dean grinned, mussing his hair so it was even wilder than before. "Fine. Three hours of sleep and then I get to take a shower."

"Deal."

All too soon Sam was shaking him awake. Dean glanced blearily at the clock. "You let me sleep four hours."

"You need all the beauty sleep you can get," Sam said distractedly, focused on cleaning the guns.

"That's not what Kasey said last night."

"Ew, Dean. No details, please."

"You find out anything aside from their lair?"

"Looks to be a family of five. We'll have to be careful, that's a lot of teeth."

"I'll say." Dean stretched lazily and yawned. "Do I still get to take my shower?"

"Make it quick."

Once they were on the road, Dean looked over his brother critically. "You don't look like you slept that well."

Sam raised a shoulder, let it drop.

Dean frowned. "Were you awake the whole time I was gone?"

"No."

"Liar," Dean muttered. Sam didn't answer him, pretending he hadn't heard.

They pulled up in front of a nondescript farmhouse. Dean sighed, getting out and snagging his gun. He checked the clip—silver bullets—and snapped it back into place.

"You've gotta take care of yourself too, Sam," he said irritably. "I'm able to take care of myself for one night."

"I know that," Sam muttered.

"Doesn't seem like it," Dean shot back.

Sam scowled. "Look, we're on a hunt, Dean. Can this wait?"

"Fine."

They approached the house together. Dean considered it thoughtfully. "Kick down the door or knock?"

Sam looked frustrated. "I wish we had more to combat the five of them, but surprise should be enough. Look, let's just go for it, okay? Stay behind me."

"I get to kick down the door."

Sam rolled his eyes but acquiesced, letting Dean kick the cheap wood, splintering the frame a little in his eagerness.

There were several screams which quickly turned into growls. The werewolves were shifting quickly, two out of the five in mid-shift.

Sam had swiftly stepped forward. His aim was true as he took out the two changing. There were two whose reactions weren't as fast, and Dean turned his gun on them, bullets to the heart.

"Dean!"

The voice wasn't Sam's. Dean turned, staring dumbly at Kasey.

"Kasey?"

Her wide brown eyes took in Dean's gun, the dead werewolves. "Hunter," she breathed.

"I—"

Without warning, she shifted. Dean squawked in surprise as she shot towards him, claws digging into his chest.

"Dean!" Kasey was knocked away by his brother. Dean sat up, watching Sam roll over, losing his gun in the process.

"Sam, look out!"

Vicious teeth snapped near Sam's face. Sam squared off against the werewolf, face in its own kind of snarl.

Dean shot Kasey.

Sam stared at the dead werewolf. Hands shaking, Dean dropped his gun.

"Dean . . . kiddo . . ."

Dean swallowed back the urge to vomit. "Let's uh, uh finish the hunt. Salt and burn."

"Hey." Sam stepped forward, carefully taking the gun from Dean's hand. "Dad isn't here, Dean. You don't have to swallow it all down, okay? Hey." He reached up, palming the side of Dean's face. "Breathe."

Dean closed his eyes, leaning a little into Sam's hand. "I can't . . ."

"Look. Breathe. I'm going to take care of the bodies. You go into the Impala, punch the dashboard, cry, do what you need to do. We'll talk."

"Sure, mom," Dean said shakily, trying to play it off. Sam gave him a look, calling him on it, and he subsided, briefly ducking his face into his brother's shoulder. "I—I'll be okay."

"I know you will be."

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so it's pretty much canon that Dean raised Sam right? Thing is, even though Dean was protective and such, I've always imagined him as being relatively in-line with their father's ideals, etc. So the suck it up attitude would've come through. You can argue the nature vs nurture stuff but I kinda figure Sam would've been a little more in-tune to the emotional needs of Dean in this scenario.

Whatever, I'm making this up as I go lol

Also, inside joke that isn't an inside joke because I'm writing this, but I had a dog named Kasey so . . . yeah I pretend I'm funny sometimes.

In other news, real life is crazy, but I'm doing my best to get this fic finished before I leave on a mission trip. It's gonna be tight! Cross your fingers :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Sam reluctantly grabbed his backpack._

 _"What are you dragging your feet for? I thought school was the greatest thing ever," Dad said wryly._

 _Sam swallowed. "I'm coming."_

 _Dean was already in the backseat, happily occupied with a rubik's cube. Sam slid into the passenger side, twisting his hands together so Dad wouldn't see them tremble._

 _"When you both get home, I expect to see one hour of homework and then some training."_

 _Dean's 'yessir' was bright and cheery. Sam's sounded dull in comparison. He got a sharp look from his father and did his best to look tired instead of ornery. He didn't want to get in a fight with him now._

 _"Dean, did you grab your essay?" Sam asked._

 _"Got it." Dean tossed his binder up to the front seat. "See?"_

 _Sam glanced over it one more time. "Looks good."_

 _He got a sharp look from Dad. "Did you write that for him?"_

 _Sam scowled. He'd spent hours patiently working with Dean on writing while their dad had been in the same room; only he'd been focused on whether they'd finished memorizing their Latin for the day. "No sir."_

 _They were lounging on the front steps. Sam swallowed, giving Dean a weak smile and telling him to 'have a good day' before stepping out of the car, feeling their eyes focusing on him._

 _They didn't do anything as he passed. Just laughed while Sam hustled inside._

 _The day passed achingly slow. The kids used him as target practice for spitballs, but that was about it. Sam knew it wouldn't get bad until after school, when he was walking home alone. Dad picked Dean up since he got out of school earlier, so at least he was safe._

 _"How's life at the motel?"_

 _Sam quickened his steps, fruitlessly. The bigger kids caught up and stopped him with a heavy hand on the shoulder._

 _"You did what we talked about?"_

 _Sam cringed a little in their grip. "C'mon, I can't do your homework! We could all get in trouble. And the teacher would notice."_

 _"Then you better make it so she doesn't." Their ringleader, Peter, leaned in, hand tightening on Sam's shoulder. "Are you saying no?"_

 _"I—" Sam hesitated for too long; Peter slammed a fist into his stomach, and then again, and again. Sam knew the proper technique to fight back. But he also knew what getting into a fight would do. Peter's mom was the vice principal. One word from the kid, and Sam would be suspended._

 _"How 'bout this." Peter pulled on Sam's hair, drawing tears to Sam's eyes. "You do my homework. Don't say one word. And I won't let it slip that you live in a motel, and that your dad's never around, huh? I mean, unless you really want to go into the system. I hear foster families are great, and you can be separated from that little brother of yours. I bet he's annoying. Wouldn't you like to get rid of him?"_

 _"Don't, please." Sam swallowed his pride. "I'll do anything."_

 _Peter grinned, patting Sam's cheek condescendingly. "That's what I like to hear."_

 _The other kids released him, laughing as Sam stumbled away._

 _When he got home, Dad had left for another hunt, Dean watching cartoons from the bed._

 _"Did you have a good day at school?" Sam asked quietly._

 _"Uh huh. We got to have extra time at recess because we were good during class." Dean ran over, giving Sam an enthusiastic hug. Usually Sam loved Dean's hugs, but this time it hurt his sore stomach. He swallowed a groan, easing Dean's grip a little. "I'm hungry."_

 _Sam thought of the bare cupboards, and the five dollars he'd saved from the last odd job he'd done._

 _"I'll go get us some cereal," he promised. "You be good. Do your reading, okay?"_

 _"Okay." Dean turned off the TV obediently, like Sam didn't know that he'd turn it back on the instant Sam was gone. Sam was too tired to confront him._

 _"I'll be right back." Sam tried to think about the rest of his evening. He would get Dean set up with food after he was back from the store, and then go see if any of the neighbors had jobs for him. After that, he would do his own homework and Peter's. Help Dean with his homework and get him ready for bed. Clean the guns Dad had left and write out some more notes for hunting._

 _Sam cried all the way to the store and all the way back, so that when Dean saw him, he would have dry eyes._

* * *

"Head injury means hospital."

"Saaaaam." Even saying his brother's name sent pain reverberating through his skull. Dean scowled. "You're hurt too. You should have to get checked out."

"It's cracked ribs and some cuts, that's all—"

"That's all," Dean mouthed behind Sam's back.

"—and I'm not the one seeing double." Sam shot Dean a glare that told him he wasn't getting away with anything. "You're going, and that's final."

Dean pouted. "The stupid black dog didn't even see me. I just fell over a dumb log. It shouldn't count as a real injury."

"Remember the time I tripped and shot myself in the foot?" Sam nudged Dean a little. "C'mon, kiddo, let's get in there."

Dean stared up at the hospital, feeling his head swim. Without needing any prompting, Sam rounded the car and hitched an arm underneath Dean's shoulders.

"Your ribs," Dean murmured.

"They're fine."

Sam was lying; Dean did his best to keep himself going forward on his own steam.

The triage nurse took one look at the giant goose egg Dean had and got Dean straightaway to be poked and prodded and his brain scanned or something. Dean was a little too out of it to pay attention. He was pretty sure he threw up a couple times in the process.

"So no bleeding?"

"So far, so good. We'll keep him for observation overnight and do another scan in the morning to make sure."

Dean managed to peel up one eyelid to see Sam looming over the poor doctor. He snorted gently, and then groaned when that made his head throb.

"I'd like to talk to Dean alone, if that's alright."

The doctor's request didn't make sense. Dean squinted at the two of them, seeing Sam go tense and uncertain.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"It simply has to do with patient confidentiality. I'm sure you understand."

To Dean's blurry eyes, it seemed like Sam 100% did not understand, but he obeyed the doctor, stopping near Dean's bed to squeeze his shoulder.

"I'll be right back, Dean."

"'Kay," Dean mumbled.

"Dean, are you able to talk?" the doctor asked.

"If you make me." Dean hitched himself up a little on the bed. The worst of the pain was slowly draining away, courtesy of some pretty nice drugs. They'd have to steal some for their next round of injuries.

"With the nature of your injury, and the history of . . . well, too many old injuries to count, I wanted to ask you if you felt safe."

Dean blinked, nonplussed. "Right now?"

"With your brother," the doctor clarified. "If he has some leverage over you, or you feel dependent on him, there are options. We have counsellors that you can—"

"Sam didn't do this to me," Dean interrupted him.

"Being in an abusive relationship is a very serious thing." The doctor shifted on his seat. "You don't have to let yourself be controlled by him."

Dean went from mildly amused to pissed off. "Get out."

"Excuse m—"

"I said, get out. Now. Please." Dean did his best to look intimidating while trying to keep his eyes from crossing. Finally, the doctor left and Sam re-entered.

"Everything okay?"

There was something wrong with Sam's tone, but Dean was too exhausted to tell. "Mm hmm. Gonna sleep now."

The next time Dean opened his eyes, the corridors were sliding by in a weird blur.

"S'm?" he mumbled. "Where—"

"Shh, they caught wind of the insurance fraud. We've gotta bug out." Sam turned the wheelchair to the side and Dean realized he recognized one of the nurses walking their way. Sam leaned down, half-blocking Dean from her sight and pretended to be pointing something out on a picture on the wall. Dean sort of zoned out for the rest of the journey, only managing a little bit of shuffling when Sam transferred him to the Impala.

The next time he opened his eyes, there was an awful floral design over his head.

There was a rustling sound, and Sam was there, using his uncanny sense of knowing when Dean was awake. "Easy, Dean. Your head still killing you?"

"I think the person who painted this room was color blind," he murmured.

Sam handed him two pills. Dean downed them with the water his brother provided and groaned.

"I feel like someone took a blender to my brain."

"You know the drill, Dean." Sam held up a flashlight and Dean groaned. "Follow the light."

Dean did the neuro checks with ill grace, whining the whole time before Sam finally let up and he collapsed back on the many pillows behind him.

"You're the worst," he groaned.

Instead of his usual sarcastic rejoinder, there was silence. Dean cracked open an eye to see Sam hunched in on himself, long fingers twisting together.

"Sam?"

"You up to eating anything? I got butterscotch pudding or you can have orange jello. I don't know how you like that stuff."

"Sammy. What's up?"

"Nothing, Dean, everything's fine."

"That's crap." Dean watched how his normally proud and confident brother hesitated and felt his gut twist. "C'mon, dude, tell me what's going on?"

"I just hate seeing you . . . hurt." Sam's eyes flickered up for a second. "It kills me, Dean."

"Yeah, but this isn't you feeling guilty for no reason after I get hurt. Trust me, I know what that looks like. This is . . . something else."

"Drop it." The mulish set to Sam's jaw told Dean he was on the right track.

"Is it about what the doctor said? Were you listening?"

Sam twitched. "No," he said. His voice was weak.

"Sam, c'mon. I'm an adult now, I make my own decisions. And it's my decision to hunt, okay? You aren't . . . abusing me."

"We should never have become hunters," Sam muttered. "All it takes is one wrong move. Your neck could've been snapped as you hit the wall. You could've gotten a brain bleed. And I—I do control you, like the doctor said. I pick the hunts, I boss you around, and—"

Dean drew up all his energy and flicked Sam in the ear.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get for talking crazy." He slumped back against the pillows, closing his eyes. "If I had anyone else in the world for a brother, I'd be dead already."

He felt Sam's fingers ghost over his pulse. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he felt Sam press his lips against his forehead.

"Don't leave me," Sam whispered. "Please."

* * *

 **A/N:** Even though I can see a lot of "good" out of Sam being the elder (his sensitivity, his responsibility, etc), I can also see him struggling with it a lot more due to those same attributes. Dean's sense of bravado and tough exterior probably helped shield himself and Sam from a lot of pain growing up.

As always, I'm just making this up as I go! Let me know if you agree, disagree, whatever :)


	6. Chapter 6

_"C'mon, Dean, you know this."_

 _"No, I don't. It's a waste of time, dude."_

 _Sam watched in despair as Dean shoved his math book away._

 _"Dean, you've got to do this."_

 _"Why? Who cares, anyway? I'm gonna be a hunter, and hunters don't need math."_

 _"Dean, math isn't just a bunch of useless numbers. It's the foundation for logic and calculations. The nurse who was taking care of dad was using math to get his meds right. What if you had to do first aid and couldn't solve it?"_

 _Dean eyed Sam like he wasn't sure whether Sam was bluffing. Sam held his gaze._

 _"Fine." Dean dragged his book back and frowned at the numbers._

 _The phone rang and Sam went over to answer it._

 _"Hello?"_

 _"We're looking for Mr. Winchester, is he here?"_

 _"No, can I take a message?"_

 _"We're calling from Northwest elementary. Some of Dean's paperwork is missing, and we need Mr. Winchester to fill it out."_

 _Sam bit his lip. "My dad's out of town. Can I come fill it out? I know all the information."_

 _The voice on the other end hesitated. "Are you all alone?"_

 _"No, we're staying with a neighbor," Sam lied. "But they wouldn't know the stuff you need."_

 _"Alright. Well, if you can come in after school tomorrow, we'll talk then."_

 _The line cut off. Sam carefully repeated their cover for this move and turned around. Dean wasn't at the motel desk anymore._

 _"Dean!"_

 _There was silence, and Sam scowled. The next hour was spent chasing Dean down as he managed to ransack the entire room in an attempt to get out of doing homework. Only when Sam threatened to eat all of their remaining oreos himself did Dean finally calm down and get back to work._

 _The following day, Sam went to Dean's school. Dean was waiting for him in the library, thankfully obedient for once._

 _"C'mon, Dean, we gotta go talk to the secretary."_

 _Dean screwed up his eyes. "I want to go to the arcade.."_

 _Sam thought of the class field trip he wanted to go on, the ten bucks he had to pay for it, and swallowed. "Do you have to go?"_

 _"Please?" Dean looked up at him sweetly and Sam was lost._

 _"Alright, after the secretary."_

 _All of the adults looked overworked and tired. Sam tentatively smiled at the lady at the front. "Hi, I'm supposed to do some paperwork for Dean Winchester?"_

 _Beady eyes looked him up and down. "How old are you?"_

 _"Thirteen."_

 _"Uh huh. And you know what we need?"_

 _"I think so." Sam tried to straighten under her scrutiny._

 _He was handed the paperwork and directed into a corner. Dean rolled his eyes at the wait and settled in, messing with his walkman._

 _Sam finished everything, double checking that their current alibi was correct before handing it in._

 _He once more got a strange look. "You say your dad's . . . out of town?"_

 _"Business trip."_

 _"Mmm. You two have a ride home?"_

 _"We're really close, we walk to school." Sam kept his expression steady, but inwardly he began to panic. These were the types of questions people asked before they called CPS._

 _The woman shrugged. "Alright. Everything's in order."_

 _Sam steered Dean clear of the office, relaxing once they were out on the sidewalk._

 _"What was that all about?"_

 _"Nothing," Sam said. "Hopefully."_

* * *

Dean didn't fancy himself a matchmaker in any way. It was just that his straight-laced older brother tended to majorly get in the way of his own attempts to meet girls. So by matchmaking, he merely hoped to . . . loosen Sam's strict standards about Dean's hook ups.

"C'mon, Sam. All those girls are interested, and you aren't going to even look at any of them?"

"Unlike some people, I don't want five STDs by the time I'm twenty-five." Sam shot Dean a severe look. Dean scowled.

"I'm not stupid, Sam. I'm careful."

"I don't care what arguments you use, you are not going to pick up a bunch of girls from a bar."

"I'm legally an adult now. You can't stop me." Sam raised one eyebrow, and Dean subsided with a huff. "You're no fun."

"Sorry to ruin your life," Sam said wryly. He returned to poring over his newspaper, and Dean turned to survey the bar at large.

If he had less class, he'd've whistled at the girl ordering a drink. Tall, blonde, gorgeous. Probably a little too old for him, but that had never stopped him before.

"I'm gonna go get a beer," he said.

"Mmm."

He leaned against the bar, offering the girl a grin. "Drinking alone?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dragged here by my girlfriends. Who suck. You?"

"Brother and I are just passing through." Dean wasn't getting any kind of flirtatious vibe from the girl and switched tracks easily. "Wanna come hang out with us? He's being a bore, maybe you can get him to stop reading the newspaper."

"People still use newspapers?" The girl grinned. "I'll have to meet this dinosaur of a brother of yours."

Drinks in hand, they made their way over to Sam.

"Sam, I have a friend for you to meet. Um . . ."

"Jess," the girl supplied.

"Jess," Dean announced.

Sam squinted up at them. "What?"

Dean snorted. "Dude, you are so lame." Before Sam could stop him, he swiped the newspaper and crumpled it up. "Be social."

Sam's smile was painful. "Forgive my brother. He's being an idiot, you can leave."

"And join them?" Jess pointed to a group of four giggling girls downing shots. "No thanks."

Sam smiled, his dimples coming out, and Dean could swear he saw Jess melt. "Friends of yours?"

"Two of them got into their sororities last night. This is their celebration."

Dean inwardly winced as Sam went still. "Sororities, huh?"

"Yeah, not quite my scene, though I don't mind a good party. I've gotta keep my grades up though, no time for partying." Jess looked over the two of them. "What are you guys studying?"

Dean pasted on his most charming smile. "I'm the high school dropout. Just looking towards apprenticing in a garage."

"Academics not your style? I get you. There are some days when I'm stuck in biochem that I want to storm out." Jess grinned at him and Dean felt his heart give a little flip. That was a wickedly cute smile. She turned to Sam. "How 'bout you, Mr. Newspaper?"

Sam rubbed the tips of his fingers together. "Pre-law," he whispered. Dean blinked. Sam'd never said what he'd wanted to study if he could.

"Wow, that's intense! Very impressive."

"And you?" Sam looked through his hair at Jess. The college girl made a face.

"Pre-med. Tentatively. Some days I don't think I'll make it to graduation."

"Don't say that." Sam reached out and covered her hand with his. "I'll bet you're smarter and stronger than you can imagine. Even going to college, you . . ." Sam ducked his head. "You're very strong."

Dean slowly slid away from the table, moving to one table over and waving down a bartender. Jess and Sam's conversation faded to a murmur, but he could still make out what they were saying.

". . . very sweet of you."

He could picture Sam awkwardly taking his hand away and rubbing his mouth. "I, uh, sorry for being so forward."

"Don't worry about it. What year are you?"

"Senior."

"Aw, nearly free! I'm a junior. Almost there."

"You, uh, you always want to be a doctor?"

"No, but I got sick when I was in middle school. Really sick, and I had the best doctor in the world take care of me. Ever since then . . ."

"Yeah."

There was a brief silence, and Dean risked a glance. Sam seemed . . . raw. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea.

"You aren't in college, are you."

Sam jerked and blinked. "What? I mean . . . I am, I—"

"My dad always wanted me to be a professional poker player. I clean up pretty nicely at local games. You have a tell when you're lying." Jess leaned back. "I wouldn't've judged you for not being in college. You didn't need to lie."

Sam sighed. "I . . . I wanted to. I, uh, I wanted to go to college, but it didn't work out. I suppose I thought I'd like to pretend I was for a little bit."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Have circumstances changed? You could still apply."

Dean looked away, unable to watch as Sam nodded or shook his head.

"Look, wanna get out of here? The beach is gorgeous at night. No tourists, and we can talk a little easier."

"I—"

"Yo, Sam, I'm gonna head back to the motel. Have fun with Jess, okay?"

There was something a little desperate in Sam's eyes. "Dean, you don't—"

"Yes, I do." Dean punched him on the shoulder. "Have a good night."

He hesitated at the door. He saw Sam's face light up at something Jess said and felt a weird twinge of regret. Sam should have so much more. If only Dean could give that to him.

* * *

 **A/N:** I will forever be bitter about sam/jess. IF THEY HADN'T KILLED HER OFF FJDKLSAFJKAS;JDKF;AJK L.

Anyway, I've tried multiple times to write them, but I end up getting too sappy and emotionally involved and Jess comes off as a Mary Sue, which I do NOT want. So I'm still trying to get to that place.

In other bad news, I am not going to finish this before my mission trip. So I'm gonna be gone for a while, and I'm sorry to leave it hanging here, but I figure it's better to give myself time to write the ending how I'd like it, rather than leave you with a crappy ending and get it done quickly, right? Right. I will be back, never fear!


	7. Chapter 7

_Sam trembled in rage and fear. "Dad, it's too soon!"_

 _"You went on your first hunt when you were 12. And Dean's progressed far beyond what you ever did by that age."_

 _Sam ignored the spike of hurt and kept his face in a solid scowl. "No, Dad. It's too dangerous. What if the witch knows more complex spells than we think she does?"_

 _"Spells can be blocked, Sam. You're wearing protection, Dean's wearing protection. I won't hear anything else about it, you understand?"_

 _"Yessir."_

 _Dean tugged at his elbow. "Sam, c'mon, I'm totally ready. I can't wait to hunt."_

 _Sam's spirits didn't lift. "Look, Dean, nothing you say is going to make me feel any better about this."_

 _Dean cocked his head, boyish grin on his face. "Sammy, you are such a worry wart."_

 _"Am not," Sam said petulantly._

 _"Look." Dean stuck out his pinky. "I pinky promise to let you protect me and otherwise coddle me during this hunt."_

 _"Deal." Sam entwined his finger with Dean's. "If you get hurt I promise you, I won't leave you alone for even one second. You won't be able to breathe without me there."_

 _Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, nothing's gonna happen."_

 _"You totally just jinxed it."_

 _"Boys," their dad said warningly. Sam stared out the window, the happy suburban setting a stark contrast to his mood. They pulled up to a well-groomed yard and house._

 _"The witch is here?" Dean asked dubiously._

 _John's sigh was heavy. "Boys, you question this hunt any more and you'll be running laps every single day."_

 _The threat was real. Both of them clammed up and spilled out of the car, weapons carefully tucked into their holsters, coats awkwardly tucked in to hide them._

 _"We are going to ask the witch to destroy her own altar and books. If she doesn't, then we will threaten. Neither of you should have to do anything."_

 _"Yessir," they intoned together._

 _The witch, surprisingly, kept her door unlocked. They followed Dad inside, Sam securely in front of Dean._

 _"I've been waiting for you."_

 _All of them jumped at the woman's voice. Sam shifted to Dean was behind him completely. The witch was sitting, drinking coffee. Sam kept his hand by his gun, looking to his father for guidance._

 _"You know why we're here then."_

 _"Yes, yes, blah blah stop doing your witch-y things. Babe, that isn't going to happen," she said._

 _"You don't want to know what we'll do if you don't."_

 _The witch stood, diminutive stature doing nothing to diminish the power that emanated from her. "Threats? Fine, let me show you my way."_

 _With one snap of her fingers, Sam was suddenly in agony. He collapsed, feeling a wave of pain emanate from everywhere he hit the ground, which then somehow reverberated and became worse._

 _"Sammy!" Dean was over him, terror in his eyes. "What's wrong?!"_

 _"What did you do?" John roared._

 _"Broke every bone in your son's body. Hurts, I imagine."_

 _Sam vaguely processed the words, but most of his brain was consumed in the pain. Each movement he made sent a ripple effect through each bone in his body, muscles contracting from the pain, skeleton grinding and twisting unnaturally. He had enough cognition to be grateful that Dean hadn't also been cursed._

 _"Turn it back, or I will shoot you now."_

 _"Now now, darling. I know you hunters. You won't kill humans."_

 _John's voice was as dark as Sam had ever heard it. "Try me."_

 _The pain flared a million-fold and then slowly faded. Sam was able to make a fist. His bones were healed._

 _He looked up at the witch; whatever his expression was, it was enough to make the witch's face fold a little._

 _"Look, I didn't set out intending to hurt people, okay? I'm doing good! And those bullies, well, I taught them lessons so they wouldn't hurt others."_

 _"And are you really so clear-minded and righteous that you can determine who deserves what? Power corrupting isn't just a concept. I would know, with the things I've seen," John said. "Look at what you just did to my son. What did he do to you?"_

 _The witch bowed her head. "How can I give it up? It's a part of me, I can't . . ."_

 _"Know that you don't have a choice, step aside and let it happen," John said. "And lay one more spell upon one of my boys and I will put a bullet in your brain."_

 _The witch stepped aside and gestured to the back room. "Any occult materials are in there. And . . ." she looked to Sam. "I am sorry."_

 _"It's okay." They headed home, and Dean spoke up once he was alone with Sam._

 _"I want . . . I want to hunt," he said. "But you got hurt. How can that be right?"_

 _Sam couldn't answer, mind on the college brochures the guidance counsellor had handed him the other day._

 _Despite the event, Dean's enthusiasm for hunting never waned. A bit of Sam hated him for that._

* * *

Dean was struggling to stay calm. Hunts where there were a lot of unknowns were always iffy and usually ended up in a big mess. At least they had identified their target as a shifter, but it could literally become anyone. The odds weren't great in their favor.

"No luck." Sam approached the car, rubbing his neck ruefully. "I think we're going to need to rethink our approach to this hunt."

"How so?" Dean asked absently, focused on scanning the passing evening crowd.

"Maybe the shifter knows we're here. If it's related to humans, it might think like one."

Dean made a face. He glanced at his brother, and then once more. "I suppose."

"You, uh, got the keys?"

"Of course." Sam jingled them, but with each passing moment, Dean's suspicion grew.

"Where'd you go just now?"

"To ask the bar owner if he'd seen anything," Sam said slowly. "You know that."

The evening crowd and thinned; there was no one particularly close. Dean made his decision and whipped out his gun, loaded with silver bullets and ready.

"Don't move. Where is Sam?"

"Dean, I'm right here." Sam squinted at Dean. "Did you see something? What's going on?"

Dean sneered. "You think you can fool me? I know Sam better than anyone, and you aren't him."

"Are you sure?" Sam took a few steps closer to Dean. "I mean, you can shoot me. But what if you're wrong?"

Dean hesitated, staring into Sam's earnest hazel eyes. "I—"

Without warning, Sam snatched the gun away and wrapped Dean in a hold that put pressure on his carotid arteries. Dean knew this move. It was Sam's move.

"Sorry, kiddo," he heard. And everything went black.

He woke up dizzy, tied up, and pissed. Dean twisted a little in the ropes, glaring at the shifter, who was standing over him. "You won't get away with this. Sam'll show up and kick your—"

"Honestly, Dean, do you really think he'll get here in time?" The shifter smirked, the expression wrong on Sam's face. "Oh, I know he's supposed to be a great hunter. But you should hear all of these issues. Little brother was always better, daddy never loved him as much as Dean. I mean, it's a pretty big mess up in here." The shifter stalked closer, putting his fingers under Dean's chin and lifting it so Dean had to meet his gaze. "But I know a fighter when I see one. Your brother was the perfect skin for me."

"If you know how awesome my brother is, then you know he'll be here. Guy would die rather than let me get hurt."

"True enough." The shifter twitched a little. "You never understood what my life was like."

Great, the shifter was starting to think it was Sam. Dean pulled at the ropes futilely, glancing to the door every few seconds.

"I was living it, right there with Sam," he said.

"Were you?" There was a spasm of pain across its face. "I gave up everything for you."

Dean felt his stomach twist. Unsure how to answer, he worried a little more at the ropes. " _Any time now, Sammy,"_ he thought.

"When Dad left I thought . . . I thought maybe we'd have a chance. You'd say that it was time to stop. But it just keeps going." The shifter paced, hands twitching by its side. "I think about blowing my brains out every day and it just keeps going and going and . . ." It trailed off. Dean flinched as a knife was suddenly brandished in his face.

"You have issues," he managed to say.

"And whose fault is that?"

Dean glanced around their motel room. He could yell. Maybe someone would call the police.

And maybe Dean would get his brother's face plastered all over the news. Wanted for multiple murders, if they found the connections to all the shifter's previous crimes.

"Well, you've managed to stall me long enough." The shifter twisted the knife around, Sam's capable fingers moving with familiar patterns. "Should we start with the face first?"

"Dean!"

Sam burst into the room, face bloody and bits of rope dangling from his wrists.

"He's got a knife, Sam look out!"

The shifter snarled and lunged at Sam. Dean pulled fruitlessly at his bonds as the two Sams fought.

"I beat you once," the shifter Sam said. He had an arm across Sam's neck. Dean yelled out his brother's name as his face grew steadily purple.

The shifter suddenly screamed, releasing Sam. Sam held a bloody knife—a silver knife—in his hand.

"Don't underestimate us," Sam rasped.

Dean managed to get one wrist free. He scooted the chair over, reaching with his one free hand for the gun.

In the meantime, Sam had lost the knife.

Dean aimed the gun, his hands shaking. Then, he hesitated. It was just a split second, but it allowed the shifter to twist Sam's arm behind his back and yank. The pop was audible, and Dean fired. Sam's body—the shifter's body—fell.

"Sam," he breathed.

Sam staggered toward him, scooping up the knife with his good arm. "You okay?"

"I'm not the one with a dislocated shoulder."

"True." Sam fell to his knees in front of Dean's chair, forehead resting on Dean's knee. He lifted the knife, slowly sawing the remaining rope around Dean's arm.

"Dude, I got it." Dean took the knife with his free hand. Sam remained slumped against him. "Where were you?"

"Shifter got me when I was coming out of the bar. Snuck up on me, dragged me into the sewers."

Dean swore quietly. Once he was free, he carefully wrapped his arms around Sam and lifted. Sam swallowed.

"Just do it."

Dean palpated carefully around the joint to make sure he would push the right direction. Without warning him, he popped it back into place. Sam let out a bitten-off cry, folding in on himself.

"Easy, Sammy. Breathe."

"Crappy hunt," Sam muttered.

"I'll say." Dean ran a hand through Sam's grimy hair. "You need a shower. Any other wounds?"

"Bruises. They'll heal. You?"

"Bruises," Dean echoed.

Sam gave him a wry smile. "Another successful Winchester hunt in the books, eh?"

Dean glanced behind Sam to the shifter's body. It hadn't changed; the image of Sam lying dead on the motel floor would take a while to fade.

"Successful," he murmured. "I suppose."

* * *

 **A/N:** Mission trip went very well! It's humbling to travel to a place and realize how much you have in comparison to people who survive on nothing. Seeing the work God is doing in Haiti was eye-opening. I hope I can take what I saw there and use it for His glory.

My schedule is still as crazy as ever. I've pretty much run out of things to post on this story, so now I have to buckle down and polish off a couple of the chapters and write the ending. The problem is, the more I've slowed down on writing fic, the harder it is. Struggles struggles. Hope you like this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

_The first thing Sam felt was pain._

 _It flared up before he was even fully awake. He couldn't cry out, too drugged, maybe, but everything was grey and empty and burning. Sam wanted to scream. The pain began to focus—a deep spot on his lower back, along his left calf. He couldn't remember what had happened. There was . . . a hunt. A salt and burn gone wrong. Dean was safe, Sam knew that. He remembered salt laid down, fire following._

 _But the ghost had been too fast. Sam had been flung through the air before the telltale scream of a ghost going up in flames; he'd been tossed toward the burning grave._

 _Sam tried once more to cry out, but his voice caught. There was something in his throat. Panic swiftly overtook the pain, but he wasn't able to move. He could hear fast beeping in his ears, muffled voices. Something cold travelled through his arm, and it all faded away._

 _The next time Sam woke up, he was able to realize that he was in the hospital. Intubated._

 _"—'am."_

 _He tried to stay still, focus. The voices slid in and out of focus like bad radio._

 _"—early. He can—first—'ean."_

 _It was too exhausting, and Sam faded again._

 _The tube was taken out while he was asleep; Sam was jolted into the painful world of the living by the painful slide of the tube out of his throat. He thrashed as best as he could; the pain in his back and leg were still too much to bear. He couldn't go far._

 _"Easy, Sammy." Dean's voice was high and wavering. "You'll be okay."_

 _Dean's voice wasn't necessarily soothing, but the knowledge that he was okay and present was. Sam subsided. Dean's hand was cold against his overheated skin._

 _He tried to ask Dean if he was hurt, but his raw throat protested. Sam subsided, taking a piece of ice when it was pressed against his lips. He vaguely heard another voice—nurse—explaining to him what was going on. A cord was put into his hands and thumb placed over a button that would provide him morphine._

 _He woke up again—how did he keep falling asleep all the time?—to a quiet conversation between Dean and his Dad. He didn't move or let them know he was awake, too lethargic to make the effort._

 _"We should be able to head out as soon as they get him taking fluids again."_

 _"Yessir."_

 _There was a pause. "No matter what I do, your brother doesn't get it."_

 _"Get what, sir?"_

 _Sam heard John heave a sigh. "Hunting. The will isn't there, not like you. Sammy doesn't want to be a hunter, and even when he tries, it isn't enough."_

 _Sam waited for Dean to refute their dad, but he was silent._

 _"You . . . you have the instincts and the will. That's what gets you through hunts. Sam . . ." John trailed off._

 _"Can't beat Sam's research skills," Dean said weakly._

 _"I sometimes wonder . . . when your mother died in Sammy's room, I thought it might have been because his room was the most vulnerable, window open and everything. The more I look, though, I think something's wrong with Sam. It might have been him all along."_

 _"Dad, you're drunk."_

 _"That doesn't make it not true. You know that. Someday Sammy will get us all killed."_

 _Sam's chest felt tight. He waited, breathless, for Dean's answer. Some kind of defense._

 _"Sammy's always been different. A little screwed up," Dean finally said._

 _Sam had heard enough. He pressed the button and let the morphine take him away from his failures._

* * *

"End of the line?"

"Don't be morbid, Dean."

Dean scowled. "We're stuck in a cave with no way out, no food, and very little water. I think I'm allowed to be a little morbid."

"Mmm." Sam continued to slowly go over the wall of the cave.

"What are you looking for?"

"Way out."

Dean snorted. "You're hilarious."

"I live to please." Sam went still, reaching up on his tiptoes to prod at the wall.

"What is it?"

Sam beckoned him over. "I'm gonna boost you up, and you see if you can reach that lip up there."

Dean pointed his flashlight up at it. "Doesn't look like much."

"There might be an opening there," Sam said. "Feel that draft?"

Dean looked up dubiously. "Okay, but if I'm snatched by a wendigo or something, I'm blaming you."

Sam gave him a leg up. He'd been right; there was a breeze coming through and a crawlspace big enough for them to fit.

"I think I can make it. It's pretty tight though, will you be able to get up after me?"

"Can you go halfway in and leave a leg sticking out for me to grab?" Sam asked.

Dean grimaced, already imagining how that would feel. "Yeah, that'll work."

He did as Sam asked, gripping the sides of the tunnel and bracing one foot against the rock.

"Alright, go for it."

He heard Sam take a few deep breaths, a scrabbling sound on the rock, and then a yank against his foot that felt like it pulled his leg from its socket.

"You need to lose some weight," he grunted.

Sam pulled himself up enough so that he was able to let go of Dean. "Whatever, dude."

"I guess we're crawling, huh?"

"Yup."

Dean gripped his flashlight between his teeth and began the slow wriggle forward. For a while, both of them concentrated on squeezing through the rock. Dean paused, removing the flashlight and shining it around.

"Dude, this tunnel seems like it goes on forever."

"I dunno, it seems a little lighter to me."

Dean flicked off his flashlight and blinked. Sam was right, it wasn't pitch black anymore; he could almost make out his hand on the rock in front of him. "Huh."

"Like I said," Sam said smugly.

"Like you said we'd get stuck in the cave?" Dean shot back.

Sam flicked Dean in the ankle. "Shut up."

Dean smirked, and stuck his flashlight back in his mouth. He continued with the awkward army crawl; his shoulders would feel it after today.

There was a strange vibration. Dean stopped, putting a hand against the rock. "Sam, do you hear that?"

"Move forward, Dean."

Sam's voice had hit that strange calm that meant something was wrong. Dean felt saliva pooling in his throat as he realized it was an impending cave-in.

"Sam, are you—"

"Stay calm, Dean. Keep crawling forward."

Panic began to climb up his throat. Dean shuddered, trying to convince his rubbery muscles to move forward.

"Sam, I can't . . . I can't move."

"Dean. C'mon, dude. You've stared down a wyvern, taken on vampires and ghosts. What's one wimpy cave?" A warm hand wrapped around his ankle. "Take a deep breath with me, okay? In, and out. In, and out."

Slowly, the roaring his ears began to recede. Dean pressed his eyes shut to avoid seeing the walls. "Um, I think you should've led," he laughed shakily.

Sam's voice was warm with affection. "You're doing awesome, Dean. We both know that you're the better hunter. We've already gotten so far with you leading us. All we need to do is keep going, right? One arm at a time."

"One arm at a time," Dean repeated. "One arm at a time."

* * *

 **A/N:** Whew, not sure why writing fic's gotten so hard lately. Out of practice? Out of inspiration? idek. Work's been crazy so that doesn't help. This one's shorter than I'd like, but I hope you like it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sam drove the Impala much faster than he usually would. He took the turn, the Impala's wheels shrieking in protest. He haphazardly parked in front of a house already littered with sloppily-parked cars and jumped out. He had . . . he had never felt so angry._

 _He didn't bother knocking, kicking open the unlocked door. Several teenagers shrieked at his entry._

 _"Dude—"_

 _Sam stalked towards Dean, for the first time in his life wanting to hit him._

 _"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled._

 _When Dean got to his feet, he stumbled a little. "C'mon, Sammy, be cool. We're just hanging out."_

 _Sam went still, sniffing the air. "Did you use drugs?"_

 _"I—no, I swear."_

 _"We're leaving." Sam grasped Deans upper arm a little harder than he should have. Dean yelped._

 _"Calm down, Sammy! Don't be dumb, we aren't doing anything crazy."_

 _Sam was surprised to find Dean resisting his pull. He looked at his brother. "It's a school night, Dean."_

 _"So? I'm not Mr. Academic, you know."_

 _Sam bared his teeth, feeling another surge of rage at Dean's cavalier opinion of his education. "I don't care, Dean."_

 _"Of course you don't. You're so . . . so perfect, living there with your high and mighty opinions," Dean slurred. "Sam is always right."_

 _Fury thickened into something more sour. Sam tightened his grip and pulled a little harder. Without warning, Dean slugged him. Sam went sprawling, too surprised to stop his fall into empty bottles of beer. The rest of the party went silent around them._

 _"Leave m'lone," Dean spat. "I hate you."_

 _Sam felt his heart stop beating._

 _It had only been a year since he'd rejected acceptance into Stanford. Dean had found out, but Sam was pretty sure he hadn't understood what it meant to Sam. It had just become another thing separating them. Sam slowly stood up, and rushed Dean._

 _Dean was drunk. It didn't take much to subdue him, sling him over one shoulder, and pack him into the Impala. Sam went on autopilot, getting Dean cleaned up and using the heavy blankets at the motel to pretty much strap his brother to the bed._

 _Then, he took a step back. There was glass in his back, but Sam couldn't bring himself to care. He went into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door. The gun in his hand gleamed. Standard Smith and Wesson revolver, impractical for hunts due to needing to quickly reload, but Sam's favorite. After all, they didn't have safeties._

 _Sam let his finger trace the trigger. Let the barrel trace his jawline. It would be so easy to just . . . pull._

 _He didn't. He took a deep breath. Walked out the door and down the road to a small church they'd passed earlier. It was locked up._

 _Sam sank down onto the steps in front. There was a dandelion sprouting up through a crack in the concrete. He touched the petal._

 _"Son? You okay?"_

 _Without Sam noticing, a police car had pulled up to the curb. Sam swallowed, standing._

 _"Yessir. Sorry, just went out for a walk."_

 _The officer looked tired. "Late for a walk, isn't it?"_

 _Sam couldn't bring himself to lie. "I, uh, it was a bad day."_

 _"You need anything?"_

 _Sam blinked. He had expected a threat, at least._

 _"I, uh, I don't think so."_

 _"You sure? Kid doesn't go out for a walk at 3 AM and end up on the church doorway and not need something."_

 _Sam smiled weakly. "I guess."_

 _"My missus made me pie before I went out on patrol tonight. There should be a big ol' slice left."_

 _It went against everything Sam had ever been trained. Stay under the radar. Don't trust strangers. Keep away from the law._

 _Sam slid into the passenger seat. The cop had some hymns warbling out on the radio._

 _"You been here long? You don't look familiar."_

 _Sam raised an eyebrow. "You know everybody?"_

 _"Small town like this, everyone knows everybody and everybody knows everyone. Drifter family?"_

 _"Something like that."_

 _The cop cast a keen glance at him. "That what's eating you up so bad?"_

 _"Among other things."_

 _"You have support?"_

 _Sam thought about his father. Swallowed. Thought about Dean._ "I hate you."

 _"I don't know."_

 _"Then that's a no. You want to talk?"_

 _"Not . . . not really."_

 _"Okay then." The cop introduced him to his wife Laurie, who made a mean blueberry pie. The pair of them chatted on about their day, their kids—two, in college, one studying to be a dentist, one an art teacher—and their plans for the weekend. Sam sat there, absorbed, and felt something deep within him . . . something that had nearly been snuffed out, spark again._

 _He could have his own life. Make something more of himself than just another hunter, just someone . . . waiting to die. Maybe someday. He would put the revolver away. For now._

* * *

There was a run of intense, difficult hunts that left both Sam and Dean drained. A long, fruitless hunt for a swamp monster was the last straw.

"We've gotta stop," Dean declared, leaning his muddy body against a nearby tree, in lieu of touching the Impala. "I need sleep."

Sam's shadowed eyes met his. "Sorry, Dean. We shouldn't've come out tonight."

His brother's guilt complex could put a Catholic to shame. "Jeez, Sam, lighten up. I'm just saying. Let's rent Die Hard, pop some popcorn and frickin' sleep."

Sam smiled. "You've got it." He glanced over at Dean, and then at himself. "Uh, how are we going to get back to the motel?"

Dean grimaced. "Is it stripping if there's no one else around?"

Sam pointed at Dean. "No one ever knows."

"Deal."

Later that night, passing greasy popcorn back and forth, Dean felt Sam slump against his shoulder, exhaustion outweighing his desire to watch Die Hard for the hundredth time. Dean shifted a little so they would be comfortable and let himself drift as well, Sam a comfortable weight against him.

He woke up to a quiet whimper.

Dean went tense, expecting to be in the middle of a hunt or at the hospital—instead, the TV's fuzzy screen told him that the VCR had finished.

There was another whimper and Dean went tense. Sam shifted against him, hand twisting in the blanket between their bodies.

"Sammy," Dean murmured.

Sam didn't wake, eyebrows drawing together. There was a quiet, "no," from his mouth, and suddenly Dean was unnerved; whatever could make his fearless older brother sound that way couldn't be good.

"Sammy, wake up. You're dreaming."

For one moment, Sam's eyes were filled with sheer terror.

Just as quickly, they went blank.

"Movie over?" he asked, nonchalance in every line of his body. "Must've fallen asleep."

"Sam . . ."

"Go to sleep, Dean." Sam mussed his hair fondly. "You look exhausted."

Dean waited until the next day before confronting his brother.

"I'm not five."

Sam blinked. "No . . ." he said slowly. "And?"

"And it isn't fair of you to keep secrets."

"What secrets?" Sam's eyes skipped away and Dean knew he was right.

Dean said quietly, "don't become Dad," and Sam visibly flinched.

"I . . . Dean, I don't really know what's going on, and—"

"—when do we ever—"

"—and I want to sort out my thoughts before we . . . talk."

Dean scowled, tapping his fingers on the car door in an irritable, staccato rhythm. "Is it about Dad?"

"Not really?" Sam sighed, pulling off the road and parking the car. Dean kept his eyes on Sam, so he wouldn't be able to escape.

"It's . . . you know how I would get these awful dreams? When I was little?"

"Yeah. Dad called them night terrors."

"I think they're back." Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. "And I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stand them."

Dean swallowed. "And I was expecting you to have a secret girlfriend or have stolen my walkman."

Sam huffed. "I wish it was either of those things."

"What happens in your dreams?"

"I don't know," Sam said, frustrated. "I just wake up . . . scared."

"Hmm." Dean twiddled his thumbs, wishing he could do something for his brother.

They sat in silence for a moment before Sam swiped a hand over his face and turned the Impala back towards the road.

Both of them, too tense from their conversation, flinched when Sam's phone went off. Sam tossed it to Dean who glanced at the caller ID and grinned.

"Hey Uncle Bobby."

As usual, Bobby was no nonsense. "What are you two idjits up to?"

"Just finished up a couple hunts in the California area. Heading to the middle of the country, though Sam wanted to do a U-turn and go hiking in Yosemite like a hippie."

Sam threw him an annoyed glance and Dean grinned.

"I've been hearing some news about your daddy. You're looking for him, right?"

Dean sobered. "Yeah, for months now. What's going on?"

"Word is he's on the trail of a big bad. I've found some connections that might show where he'd head next."

"Wow, Uncle Bobby, that's incredible." Dean jotted down coordinates as Bobby read them off. "Any news about what he's hunting? I mean, we still can't figure why he hasn't contacted us."

"Not really. From what I can tell, John went a bit off the reservation with this one."

Dean swallowed. "Thanks for the help, Uncle Bobby. We'll keep you in the loop."

Sam was stiff in the driver's seat. "Did he say . . . what'd he say about dad?"

"Yeah." Dean glanced at him. "Did Dad ever say anything about the night . . . the night mom died? That he didn't tell me?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I wish I remembered more."

Dean reached over, kneading Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, dude, stop beating yourself up. We'll figure it out and take it on together like we always do."

Sam smiled at him through his hair. "How you manage to be so optimistic is beyond me."

"I grew up with an optimistic older brother. I guess some of it rubbed off."

Sam's smile disappeared at that. "Not optimistic enough," he murmured.

Dean couldn't get Sam's mood to improve no matter what he did after that. Sam drilled Dean on proper exorcisms, Dean rolled his eyes but dutifully recited them. When they reached their next motel, Sam disappeared. Dean, for safety reasons, trailed him to the local church and watched his brother sit, hunched over in a pew, for over an hour.

"Did you think I wouldn't know you followed me?" Sam reached Dean's hiding spot and Dean scowled.

"I thought I'd gotten better."

Sam's smile was soft and fond. "You'll never be able to hide from me."

They left the church, Dean glancing over at Sam. "Does it help?"

Sam nodded, hand going to the cross around his neck. "If you have faith in nothing, you will fall for anything."

"Right." Dean kicked at the ground absently. "So you're really scared of what's happening with Dad."

Sam cast him a sharp glance. "I didn't say I was scared."

"You'll never be able to hide from me," Dean echoed.

Sam sighed. "I'm. . . concerned. My dreams are never about anything specific, but I wake up feeling like I've run a marathon. I can't help but feel like something bad's going to happen."

"Sammy. How many monsters have we defeated together?"

Sam blinked. "Um, a lot?"

"Exactly." Dean grinned. "Nothing we can't take down, eh?"

Sam huffed a small laugh and shook his head. "I hope you're right."

* * *

 **A/N:** Guys, guys guys it's been SO HARD to figure out where to take this fic. And when I did, it ended up a lot angstier than I had set out to do. idk I'm worried it will fall flat. Ugh when did this get so difficult? I used to able to sit down and write a whole story in a night, now I take weeks to figure out what to do with one chapter. :( One or two chapters to go on this. Thanks to anyone dedicated enough to stick with me through this mess


	10. Chapter 10

_He'd called._

 _Stanford still had his application and scholarship, they were just deferred until next semester. Sam put down the phone with trembling hands, unable to cope with being handed his dreams back so suddenly._

 _The rest of the day passed in a daze. Sam tried to act normal, be engaged in the banshee hunt they were on, but he could barely get himself to respond when John asked him a question._

 _"What's up with you, dude?" Dean asked. Just last week, he'd asked if he could drop out of school. If Sam left, Dean would probably follow through on that threat. Unless he came with Sam._

 _"I, uh, just had a long day."_

 _"Get over it, Sam. You're leading on this hunt." John didn't look up from the laptop._

 _Sam winced. "I, uh, I'm not sure I should lead."_

 _"Yeah? Why's that?"_

 _"I—" Sam hesitated, unsure whether he should admit he'd been slacking off._

 _"I'll take the lead on this hunt," Dean piped up._

 _That was even worse. Sam stood, standing over Dean. "No, Dean. That's ridiculous, you're only 17, you can't—"_

 _"Sam." John crossed his arms. "Dean's been hiding behind us long enough. He's ready."_

 _Sam felt sick to his stomach. "No, Dad, this—"_

 _"Sam, c'mon, I can totally handle it." Dean stood, confidence oozing from every pore. "You know I'm ready."_

 _Fear was making everything shaky and nauseating. Sam swallowed, lowering his voice. "Dean, you could get hurt. Taking lead on a hunt isn't . . . we haven't planned for this. I can do it, I was just trying to get out of it."_

 _"I want to," Dean said. "You can't make me hide behind you forever."_

 _Sam swore under his breath, turning for the door._

 _"Where are you going?" John asked._

 _"Out," Sam snapped. "Before I do something I regret."_

 _His father and brother didn't notice as he snagged his gun, loaded with consecrated iron rounds._

 _He felt reckless like he never had before. The Stanford logo was burned into his brain. What if he went for it? Could he leave Dean? Dean could come with him, but would he? He'd . . . he'd always loved Dad more than Sam ever had and Dad had loved him more than Sam. What if that love was stronger than his love for Sam?_

 _The banshee was on him without warning. Sam instantly went deaf from her screech, forced to rely on sight alone to track her. He squeezed off a couple shots, but none of them were effective. Sharp fingernails dug into his arm, forcing him to drop his gun. A voice spoke in his head._

 _"Man child, did you hope to kill me? You know not what you do." There was a scream that seemed to be inside his brain, and Sam lost consciousness._

 _Sam woke up chained to a radiator, in a somewhat normal looking apartment._

 _"I am sorry for this. The curse of the banshee is just that—a curse."_

 _Sam frowned. "What are you going to do to me?"_

 _The banshee combed her long hair, humming to herself. "If I do not feed on the voices of others, I die. I do not kill."_

 _Sam narrowed his eyes. He hadn't been paying attention, so he didn't know why they'd be on this hunt if that were the case._

 _Without warning, the banshee leaned over him, sealing her lips onto his. It was like a pull on his soul, and everything felt empty. It was more than a voice she was taking._

 _He wasn't sure how long he was chained up. Dean was the one to come busting through the door, gun ready and eyes wild._

 _"Sammy! Man, you scared the crap out of me! C'mon, Dad's finishing off burning the banshee."_

 _Sam noticed the earplugs in Dean's ears. He pried one of them out with shaking fingers._

 _"How?" he mouthed._

 _"Just like the research said, Sammy. Keep your ears plugged, cut out her tongue and then burn her."_

 _He tried to say something, but his voice was gone. Research. His one skill, and he hadn't even done that right. He was a burden on his family. But how could he leave them?_

 _Dean pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulders. "Celebratory pie?"_

 _Sam tried to smile, but he couldn't._

 _It took three weeks for his voice to come back._

 _It took four before he spoke to anyone._

* * *

"I don't like it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, Sam, we need to find Dad, but we can't just ignore this."

"That's not why I don't like it."

Dean turned, making a face at the deep indentation between Sam's eyebrows and his wrinkled forehead. "Your face is going to be stuck like that someday."

"At least it doesn't look like your face." Sam grinned, obviously pleased at getting one-up on Dean for once.

Dean scowled. "Whatever, dude, I'm not the one propositioned by a fifty-year old waitress the other day."

Sam amicably punched Dean on the shoulder. "Fine, you win. We do this hunt, and then we follow Bobby's lead."

Dean looked down at the research in his lap. "So we have pretty much everything. Sixteen year-old, possessed by some kind of demon, confirmed by the local priest using holy water on him. Parents have him locked in the basement."

Sam frowned. "We've never taken on a demon possession before. Why can't the priest exorcize?"

"Jim said that this priest is new to the game. Doesn't know anything about exorcisms. Why are you so twitchy about it?"

Sam shook his head, eyes on the road. "Everything I've ever heard about demons . . . they're bad news."

"You have the exorcism memorized, don't you?"

Sam scowled. "You don't?"

"Welllll, mostly. Ish. Look, I'll draw its attention away and you can focus on the exorcism, right?"

His older brother's scowl grew even deeper. "That's going to guarantee that I won't be able to focus. We'll go in like we usually do. And you are going to spend the next three hours working on that exorcism."

Dean groaned. "It's like being in frickin' school."

He could've sworn he saw a gleam in Sam's eye at that. "Okay, go."

Sighing, Dean started. It was going to be a long drive.

When they entered the basement, Dean stopped. It simply . . . felt evil. Dean didn't have another word for it. Sam seemed to feel it too, a slight shiver betraying his feelings.

" You ready?" Sam murmured.

"Sure thing." Bravado had never failed him. "We've got this."

Sam rubbed a hand over Dean's back. "Don't let the demon get to you. Stay behind me."

Dean knew better than to joke when hunts were getting underway. "You've got it, Sammy."

The demon looked up as they walked down the stairs. The boy was tied up to a chair in the center of the room, straining against his bonds.

"Oh look, they've brought in the professionals." The smirk was unusually cruel on the boy's face. "Can't imagine you'll be much better than the priest."

Dean followed his brother's lead and kept his face blank. Sam began to chant the exorcism while Dean kept ready with the holy water.

"I . . . I imagine you're still looking for your father," the demon panted.

"What?" Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.

The demon's eyes flickered black. "Word on the street—well, not exactly the street, no streets in hell—word is that he's in deep with some big powers. Gonna play out soon."

"Ignore him, Dean," Sam murmured. He continued to chant.

"You two are still new at this, though." The demon grinned. "You don't even have a devil's trap."

Sam exchanged a worried glance with Dean. Without warning, the boy began vomiting black smoke that curled down and along the floor.

"Uh, Sam, is this supposed to happen?"

"I don't know, I don't . . ."

The black smoke rolled over Dean, forcing its way down his throat. He coughed, struggling against the sensation but could do nothing.

The next thing Dean knew, he was lying on the ground, staring blankly at Sam's prone body across from him.

"Sam?"

Sam shifted and coughed. "Sorry Dean. One . . . one second."

"What happened?"

"I exorcised the demon. Just got a little . . . beaten up."

Dean swallowed, stomach feeling sick. "I, uh, I beat you up?"

"Wasn't you." Sam's hand slowly crept along the floor until it curled around Dean's wrist. "Wasn't you."

"Look, I don't know what's going on here, but can one of you please untie me!?"

Dean slowly rolled over to stare at the teenager.

"Get him upstairs," Sam muttered. "I need a few minutes to recuperate."

"Looks like you'll need more than a few minutes," Dean returned, but he obeyed, freeing the once-possessed kid and watching him dart up the stairs.

"Your turn," he said to Sam.

Sam sat up slowly, groaning.

"You okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"Winchester motto." Dean slipped a careful arm around Sam's back, careful not to put too much pressure on any one point for fear of hurting his brother even more than he apparently already had.

Sam let out a pained hiss as they rose.

"How come it's always you getting hurt?" Dean asked under his breath.

"Maybe I—I'm just . . . I'm just clumsier than you," Sam panted.

"Well, that's true," Dean conceded. "Still. I swear, it's like you're a target or something."

Sam shrugged. "Better me than you."

Dean frowned, but focused on getting Sam out of the basement. The kid's mom was crying over her son, but she paused to get up and press cash into Dean's hand.

"Thank you, thank you."

"Uh, no problem." They exited as quickly as they could. Dean eased Sam down into the passenger side of the Impala.

"Internal injuries?" he queried, hands ghosting over Sam's torso.

Sam shook his head. Dean frowned, rucking up Sam's shirt and blanching at the damage. "Geez, Sam. It's like you let me beat you up."

Sam flinched. "I wasn't about to . . . about to hurt you."

Dean felt like his heart was going to break. "Sammy. I was possessed. One of the things we hunt. Would you have let me kill you?"

Sam didn't answer.

* * *

 **A/N:** Apologies for the long wait! That seems to be the theme for this fic. But I think I've finally decided how the final chapter will go. What, of course there won't be more Sam whump, what are you crazy . . . . ;)

Please let me know what you think! Always room for improvement!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I took this fic in a rather unexpected direction, and I know some people won't like it. So if you are the kind that doesn't like to read certain things in fics (it's not something rated R), please scroll to the end of the authors notes for a big spoiler so you won't be unduly upset with me. Thanks.

* * *

 _Sam took a deep breath._

 _"The . . . the blood, it's in the blood, Sam, Sammy, don't . . ."_

 _"Shhh, Dean, shh." Sam took off the hot, dry towel and placed a new cool one on Dean's forehead. "We're fine, you're just sick, okay?"_

 _"Burning," Dean muttered._

 _Sam swallowed a sob, pressing his palm to Dean's overheated cheek. "Please, Dean, you're okay. You're going to be fine."_

 _He put the thermometer under Dean's tongue. When it didn't stop after 104 degrees Fahrenheit, Sam stood, sitting Dean up and wrapping a blanket around him like he was still a child._

 _"What are you doing?" John asked blearily from the other bed._

 _"Dean needs a hospital."_

 _John sat up. "We're already on the radar in this town, Sam. Dean will be fine."_

 _"He is the opposite of fine! I'm taking him now."_

 _John stood, an automatic reaction at being disobeyed. "You will not."_

 _Sam drew out his gun held it ready by his side. "I beg to differ," he said coolly._

 _A dark understanding passed between the two of them. Finally, John stood aside. "Be careful about your choices, son."_

 _Sam holstered his gun and scooped Dean into his arms. He kept a wary eye on John as he exited the room, but his father didn't move again._

 _"S'mmy? Where . . ." Dean's weak voice trailed off._

 _"Shh. We're going to the hospital, okay? That cut is infected, we need heavy duty antibiotics now."_

 _Dean mumbled something and his head slumped into the crook of Sam's neck. It took some maneuvering, but Sam got Dean inside the Impala and comfortably settled before racing around to the other side._

 _John watched from the doorway of the motel. Sam fought the urge to flip him the finger and peeled out of the parking lot._

 _He was grilled at the emergency room. Sam did his very best lying that night. What was the cut from? Dean worked roof construction after school and an exposed nail had gotten him. What were those bruises from? He'd fallen from the roof the other day. Where was his father? Out of town on a business trip._

 _Finally, Dean was settled in a small room, IV giving the antibiotics Dean needed. Sam took a deep breath and wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist._

 _Crisis averted, he pulled out the envelope he'd avoided sending for two weeks. Bobby had called him, saying that he'd gotten a bunch of paperwork mailed to his house and 'idjit, why didn't you tell anyone you were applying to college. Congrats.'_

 _He'd gotten his long deferral past the board, and they were willing to pay for him to come to college, even after a whole year. All his dreams on a plate. Scholarship and all._

 _But Sam knew in his heart of hearts that it was useless. He dreamed about Dean coming with him, getting a small apartment. But._

 _Hunting was Dean's life. Dean loved Sam, but hunting and their father would be too big of a pull. And John wouldn't agree. Dean was still a minor, so they would get into a custody battle. Sam might win, but he might also get John arrested._

 _And Dean would hate him for that._

 _He looked at Dean, burning with fever on the bed. Some things weren't meant to be._

* * *

"What's to decide about this, Sam?" Dean slammed the motel door shut, turning to stare at his brother. "We've been looking for Dad for over a year, and now you want to back out?"

Sam shifted guiltily. "I just . . . there was probably a good reason he disappeared. I'm not sure it's such a good thing, finding him?"

"Where on earth is this coming from?"

Sam ran his hands through his hair. "I've got a bad feeling, Dean. Doesn't it feel like something's wrong to you?"

Dean crossed his arms. "So we go for months and months, and you're all, 'we have to find Dad, Dean, he could be in trouble, I worry so much about everything blah blah blah,' and now you change your mind?"

"I don't sound like that," Sam said petulantly.

"You kinda do." Dean eyed him. "So you think we should hold back?"

"I don't know."

"So . . ."

"Let's just be careful, huh?"

Dean grinned. "Careful's my middle name."

For once, Sam allowed Dean to take point, since he was still hurting. The motel they were exploring was abandoned; Bobby's sources had said that Dad was squatting there.

"Dad?" Dean called.

"Shh, Dean!"

Dean turned around to glare at his brother. "We're in a motel, Sam. I'm pretty sure we're safe."

"That doesn't mean anything." Sam angled himself in the narrow hallway to pass Dean. Apparently, since Dean hadn't been taking the job seriously enough, he had lost point privileges.

Sam paused in front of a door. "Dad always liked the ones on the end, near the fire escape."

"Fair. Let's try."

Sam knelt down, putting to use the one skill in hunting Dean had trouble with. Dean watched, still unable to figure out how Sam's long fingers were able to ease the picks through the lock and get it to snap open.

Sam grinned up at him. "Jealous?"

"Shut up," Dean returned.

The lock clicked open and Sam stood with a nearly inaudible groan, easing his gun out of the back of his jeans.

"Easy, dude," Dean muttered. "It might be Dad, it might not. You sure you're up for it?

"I kind of have to be."

"Here goes, then."

They opened the door nearly silently, sliding into the small hall at the entrance of the room. They rounded the corner, guns forward, and there was John Winchester, sitting in an armchair.

"Dad?" Dean lowered his gun, mouth open a little too wide. "You . . . you're actually here."

Beside him, Sam kept his gun raised. "Proof," he demanded.

"Of course." John cleared his throat. "The last time we were all together, we ate a meat lovers pizza. Dean was working on his homemade EMF reader, and Sam was researching ghouls."

Sam tossed over a bottle of holy water, some salt, and his silver knife. John submitted to the tests easily.

"Are we done already?" Dean asked. Their dad stood up, and Dean moved forward, wrapping his arms around him. "We've missed you. Where have you been all this time? We've been looking for months."

"There were . . . some things I had to track down. I didn't want to put you at risk."

"A phone call would've been nice," Dean groused. He moved back to give Sam room, but his brother didn't move.

"Why let us find you now?" Sam asked.

"I found the answers I was looking for."

"And?"

Dean glanced between the two of them. There was a tension there he didn't understand.

John sighed. "I suppose I know what I have to do."

Without warning, John raised his handgun and fired. Dean cried out, spinning on his heel to see blood spreading rapidly from a hole in Sam's chest. Sam crumpled to the ground, and Dean immediately dove towards him, half-covering his brother as he simultaneously raised his gun to point at whatever was pretending to be John.

"Dean," Sam gasped.

"I've got whatever it is, Sammy," Dean promised. He pressed a hand into the bullet wound, getting a groan out of his brother.

"No, Dean—"

"I'm sorry," the creature said. "It was the only way."

"What are you?" Dean snarled. "Why didn't any of the tests work?"

"I'm your father." John watched the two of them, motionless from his place in the room. "And I am sorry, that it had to end this way."

"Had to . . . are you joking?" Dean hissed. "You just shot your son!"

Sam bucked under Dean's hand and Dean looked down, shushing Sam gently and wrapping a hand around his brother's clammy neck. "Easy, big brother. It's gonna be fine, we're gonna get you to a hospital and get you patched up in no time."

"That isn't going to happen."

Dean bared his teeth, letting his pointer finger rest a little more firmly on the trigger. "Oh yeah? You going to shoot me too?"

"No. But Sam must die, that was the only solution."

"The solution to what?!" Dean shouted. "You shot your son!"

"To him going evil."

Dean's mind went blank. He suddenly pictured Sam getting out of bed with his hair sticking up, Sam looking guilty after taking a dollar bill he'd found on the sidewalk, Sam helping a little girl find her parents.

"You have no proof." Blood oozed up around his palm.

"He was the reason your mother died." John took a step towards them. "The demon that killed Mary, killed her because it wanted Sam. He was going to turn, become one of the things we hunt."

Dean fired his gun. The bullet hit the wall an inch from John's head. "Leave before I kill you," he said.

He nearly pulled the trigger again, to prove his point, but his dad left before Dean needed to go that far. He turned his attention to Sam, stomach turning at the pale color of Sam's skin.

"Hang on, Sammy," he ordered, flipping open his cell phone and dialing 911.

Sam turned his head and coughed, blood spattering the cheap grey carpet. "Dean. I . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry," Dean said sharply. He told the dispatcher the location and the situation and set the phone aside. "You're going to be fine."

Sam smiled a little, blood staining his teeth. "'S' fine. I . . . I can go, now."

"No, you can't." Dean threaded a trembling hand through Sam's hair. "What am I supposed to do without my older brother?"

"Live." Sam raised one bloody hand to Dean's cheek. "I'm sorry. You . . . you deserve better."

"Screw that," Dean whispered. "I need you with me, Sammy."

Sam's eyes lost focus before snapping back onto Dean. "P-promise me, Dean. Y-you'll live. Won't be forever. I'll see you . . . after."

"Please." Dean realized he was crying and it took a couple breaths to speak again. "Sammy."

Sam was choking on his own blood. Dean pulled Sam close, pressing his forehead to his brother's. Sam's chest stuttered under his hand, and then fell still.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yeah . . . this is a death!fic. When I set out to write this, I had no clue it would end up here, but well . . . here we are. After so many years of writing spn fic it was bound to happen sometime. I'm not sure I was able to do it well; it was a strange experience, and I actually got kind of emotional writing it. It might be overdramatic or something but idk, at this point I've got to stop messing with it and let it go.

I know a lot of people avoid fics that are death!fics so if you are one of those people, I am so so so sorry if you got invested in this fic, for it to end this way. Feel free to leave a scathing review and follow it up with something you would like to see me write and I'll try and make it up to you :)

All that said, there's one more chapter to come. I really hope I'm not disappointing all of you, but after months and months of working out where this fic was going to go, this was the direction I felt made the most sense for the characters and the situation. I know John's actions are a bit of a stretch, but I'll address that some more in the final chapter.

Please, let me know what you think. As I said, this is brand new for me, and I'm feeling really insecure about it, so critique away so I'll know what I did right/wrong!


	12. Chapter 12

_Dean snuffled against Sam's chest. Sam pressed his lips to the top of Dean's tawny head and smiled. A creak from the closet made him tense. Dad had told him about the supernatural, the ghosts and goblins, a few weeks ago, handed him a gun, and taught him how to use it._

 _They had agreed to keep it a secret from Dean—Sam had insisted, actually—until Dean was older. It made him feel better, knowing Dean could have something normal. But Sam felt awfully alone in the dark._

 _"No!"_

 _Dad's voice was muffled by the door, but it carried. Sam carefully slid out from under his brother, letting him settle down before creeping to the door and easing it open a crack._

 _"I'm telling you, Bobby, I'm right. I've talked with experts, and this isn't just a one-time thing. There are kids whose parents have died in a fire. It's always in one child's room, though, and a lot of those kids have turned out . . . questionable. There isn't any doubt about this."_

 _Sam felt something inside of him twist, though he wasn't sure why._

 _There was a pause. "Bobby, I'm not going to do anything. Not now, anyway. I'll need proof."_

 _"Dad?" Sam whispered. His dad turned on him, gaze thunderous._

 _"What are you doing out of bed!?"_

 _Sam swallowed. "Thirsty," he murmured._

* * *

 _"No, Sam."_

 _"Why not? All the other kids get to go!"_

 _"It's too dangerous."_

 _Sam scowled, crossing his arms. "How is it dangerous? We visit graveyards regularly, this is a birthday party."_

 _"I don't want you getting close to other kids."_

 _Sam blinked. That was . . . different._

 _"What?"_

 _Dad was just drunk enough to keep talking when normally he would've told Sam to shut up and go away. "It's dangerous for them. Being around you."_

 _Sam felt sick. "I wouldn't . . . I wouldn't hurt my friends, Dad."_

 _His dad didn't respond. Sam backed away from the table, slipping towards the window. He climbed out onto the fire escape and hunched in on himself. What was wrong with him?_

* * *

 _Sam handed in his paper with a smile. "Finished early," he said._

 _"Excellent, Mr. Winchester." The teacher had a strange look on his face. "If I could just see you after class."_

 _Sam hesitated, worry in his gut. "I—did I do something wrong?"_

 _"No. Just the opposite, really."_

 _Sam obeyed his teacher, waiting until the other kids filed out._

 _"What is it, Mr. Jameson?"_

 _"You've shown . . . promise." His teacher rounded the desk, staring down at Sam with a strange expression on his face. "I had to see for myself."_

 _Sam shifted from foot to foot. "Um, thanks? I need to go pick up my little brother."_

 _Mr. Jameson suddenly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. "It's hard to see," he murmured. "But I have great hopes for you."_

 _Uncomfortable, Sam took a step backwards. Mr. Jameson let him go, eyes intense on him. For a second, Sam could've sworn they flickered a different color._

 _"You may go," Mr. Jameson said._

* * *

 _Sam ducked his head, hurrying his steps until he found Dean leaving his class._

 _"Dean?"_

 _"Hurry up." Dean tugged on his sleeve. "There's some bigger boys, they promised to beat me up after class."_

 _Sam frowned. "They can't do that. Did you tell your teacher?"_

 _Dean snorted. "She doesn't care."_

 _"Well, I care." Sam felt rage bubbling up. "Stay behind me."_

 _"Aw, little Deanie got big brother to come protect him."_

 _"What did Dean do to you?" Sam demanded._

 _The boys smirked. "He owes us lunch money."_

 _"Well, you have an option." Sam slipped his hand into his bag. "You can have Dean's lunch money. Or—" He drew out his gun and pointed it at the boys. "You can run."_

 _The boys cursed and ran._

 _"Freak!"_

 _Dean grinned up at him. "That was awesome, Sam."_

 _Sam swallowed, feeling something dark inside. "Was it?"_

 _"Yeah it was. You're like a superhero."_

 _"You don't think I'm a freak?"_

 _Dean crossed his arms. "You are the least freakiest person I know."_

 _Sam took a deep breath. "Thanks, Dean."_

* * *

 _Dad had declared they were too old to sleep in the same bed anymore. Sam shivered again. He'd woken up from a nightmare without Dean's arm flung over his stomach and everything felt jittery and wrong._

 _From the other bed, Dad snorted and rolled over. Sam ducked his face into the pillow. He didn't need Dean there. He was a teenager, not a little kid anymore._

 _Something tugged at his blankets. Sam turned a tear-stained face up to see his little brother clambering under the sheets._

 _"Dean? You're not supposed to sleep here."_

 _"Deal with it," Dean said sleepily. "You needed me."_

 _Sam took a deep breath . . . and then buried his face in Dean's tousled hair. "I'm sorry I'm so weak."_

 _"Sammy." Dean's voice was softer than usual. More and more he'd been trying to act like Dad, to be the best hunter possible. The soft lines that Sam had tried to give him were being honed into sharp edges. "I think you're the best big brother there is. And you aren't weak. I used to have nightmares all the time, remember? I would've gone crazy without you."_

 _"Thanks, Dean." Sam sniffed. "You're the best little brother there is."_

 _"I know," Dean said smugly. "You owe me pie." Sam laughed, pulling Dean a little closer._

 _"I can do pie."_

* * *

"You have some guts, showing up here."

John didn't move. There were actually flowers in his hand. Like that could make up for anything. "I am sorry, Dean. I know what I did, and I am sorry."

Dean felt his mouth twist into an unpleasant shape. "But you still would've done it, right?"

John crept a little closer. When he leaned down to set flowers at Sam's grave, Dean snapped. He raked a fist across his father's face, and sent him stumbling back.

"Leave before I do worse," he promised. His fingernails bit into his palms with how hard he was clenching them.

For a few minutes after John left, there was peace. Dean slowly let himself relax, settling down into the grass in front of the simple wooden cross.

"Little Winchester."

Dean drew his gun, pointing it at the man behind him. "Where did you come from?" he demanded.

"Just waiting for daddy dearest to leave." The man had a smile full of teeth and no warmth. "I have a proposition for you."

"What's that?" Dean asked roughly.

"You get Sammy back. Whole and fit, just as he was."

Dean's world crashed to a halt. "What? You can do that?"

The man's smile widened. "Like snapping my fingers."

"And the cost?"

"Just your soul. Quick swap in ten years. Ten years is forever, isn't it?"

Dean swallowed. "A devil's deal."

"That's right, kiddo," the demon wheedled. "Wouldn't you like to see your brother again?"

Dean thought of Sam's last words. He shook his head slowly, feeling his entire being ache with regret. "No. The answer will always be no."

The demon's true nature was revealed as it snarled, eyes flashing yellow. Dean backed up, hand going to his gun, but the demon smoked out before it did anything else.

Dean's hand was shaking as he lowered his gun.

"I hope you're happy," he muttered to Sam's grave. "Because I really really didn't want to do that."

Someone cleared a voice behind Dean. He pointed his gun without looking.

"I swear, if one more person comes here and disturbs me, I am going to do some serious damage."

"Dean."

Dean blinked. "Uncle Bobby?"

He dropped his gun and turned, just in time to get wrapped up in a hug from the hunter.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came as soon as I could get away." Bobby took a step back, gruffly wiping his eyes. "I'm so sorry, boy."

Dean felt the pain in his gut again. "Yeah, well." He stared dully at Sam's grave.

"You aren't alone, kid."

"Aren't I?" Dean said bitterly. "Sam was the only—the only one who ever really loved me. Without him, what is any of it worth?"

"You think your brother wants you to talk that way?"

Dean bared his teeth. "What do you know."

"I know that Sam loved you. I know that all his life, he did his best by you. And I know that he left you a large stack of money at my place."

Dean lifted his head. "What?"

Bobby handed over a thick envelope. "He told me that he once had dreams of getting out. Going to college, the whole nine. But it wasn't in the cards. He said that you deserved the chance too, if you wanted it someday. But he also said that if it wasn't, you could use the money for whatever you liked. Just not booze and girls. His words, not mine."

Dean snorted at that, running a quick hand over his running eyes. "Sounds like Sammy."

"Come back with me," Bobby said. "Take some time."

"I will." Dean cleared his throat. "Give me a minute, will you?"

"Sure thing." Bobby clasped a quick hand to his shoulder before walking away. Dean knelt at Sam's grave, touching the marker.

"Always looking out for me," he whispered. "I'm going to make you proud, Sam. I promise."

* * *

 **A/N:** The end!

Well, this fic went quite a few directions I never expected. I hope, despite the disjointed and loooong time between updates, that you enjoyed!

A quick poll, before you go: should I put a warning at the beginning that it's a death fic? I'd hate to ruin the surprise in some ways, but I also know a lot of people really really don't like death fics so maybe I should? Please let me know!

As far as future stuff goes, I've determined that what I really really need to do is rewatch supernatural. I haven't watched it in years now, except for random clips, and I think that's why it's so hard to write it now heh. I doubt I'll make it through the whole series; I expect I'll skip a lot of episodes and probably won't make it past season 7, but at the very least I hope to refresh myself on the characters and maybe come up with some new ideas.

Soooo that's it for now! Hopefully it won't be too long before I write again. Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! :)


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